Little Notes
by asthefirespread
Summary: "Time. It has no meaning any more. Not really." Pre-Epilogue Mockingjay. The story of Katniss and Peeta growing back together and finding themselves again.
1. Chapter 1

**I haven't posted any fanfiction in a while but I thought I'd try it out again! So this is just a chapter I felt like writing down and if i get enough interest and reviews etc. I hope to continue! Most Chapters will probably be longer. Let me know what you think, feedback is always welcome! :3**

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Time. It has no meaning any more. Not really.

I sit in my chair in my house that is far too big for just me. Sae comes every day, without fail, making sure I eat at least something. One day seeps into the next. I sit in the chair. I watch the fire Sae relights every day burn itself out. She says it's to keep the house warm. I don't really notice.

I watch the flames flickering brightly at first, and then slowly diminish. The spark ignites but eventually it runs out of fuel. When it can't have what it needs, it burns itself out.

Sae's granddaughter comes round sometimes. I hear them talk about District 12 and the people who are coming back. Some familiar names float around but I try not to think about it. Anything related to people I might know might make me think of her.

Sometimes my gaze turns to the window. I watch the world go by, although nothing happens. It's still winter, the trees are still bare, everything is lifeless. It's almost like time has stopped, and I wish it would. I slip in and out of sleep at random times, always awoken by the sound of my screams. Luckily Sae is never here to witness them.

Nobody visits, except Sae. But I wouldn't call them visits, more making sure I eat. After all this time it would be the most ironic thing if I starved to death, I suppose.

The mail piles up. My phone rings at least twice a day. Occasionally Sae is here to pick it up, and it's usually Dr. Aurelius trying to speak with me. Every time I refuse to talk. It's not like I can, anyway. I haven't said a word since shortly after I got back. There's nothing to say.

I wonder how Haymitch is coping. He hasn't come to visit since I've been back, not that I blame him. I'm not exactly worthy company.

After a while, I don't really know how long, the view outside the window changes slightly. The clouds shift, the snow starts to melt away. Sunlight starts to stream in through the windows. I can hear the birds faintly singing outside, through the windows, chirping away like nothing is wrong.

Sae comes in with the goods that must've arrived from the train this morning. We get a weekly delivery of goods from the different districts and Capitol, and Sae does my order for me. She talks about how spring is in the air, how I should go out, hunt. Apparently there's a bow and arrow in the hall. I think about it, but decide against it.

"The flowers are starting to bloom too. I saw some lovely daffodils and primroses-" but she stops too late. My head snaps and I look at her before an incoherent noise, the first one I've made in weeks escapes my mouth. Somehow, I get up, and I bound up the stairs head first. I have to get away, get as far away from everything as possible.

I hurtle into my room and fling myself on my bed before I let the sobs take over. I curl up into myself, hoping maybe if I'm as small as possible I can just shrink away from the world completely. Eventually my sobs slow down and I am aware of the soft fabric of my duvet, the give of my mattress and realise I am aching all over. The movement makes me aware of that smell. I lean into my bed, and that's when I recognise it. I sit up and there it is, on my nightstand. It must've been left there before we invaded the Capitol. A single white rose lies across it. I haltingly move toward it, until it is right below me. The scent of blood overwhelms me and I run to the bathroom just in time to throw up whatever food was left in my stomach into my toilet.

When I'm done retching, it's like I can feel it, the blood on my skin. I have to get it off, I have to clean myself, because what if it's her blood, no wait, it can't be. I scratch my hands, my arms, the patchwork that now makes up my skin, trying to clean myself until I catch myself in the mirror.

The face that stares back is almost unrecognisable. Her hair is matted, unwashed for weeks. Her skin is raw, a pastiche from skin grafts. Scars cover her everywhere, her grey eyes wild, feral, lost. She looks starving, sick. It doesn't look like me. But it does look hideous. The scratching is just making it worse. I turn on the shower and slip in. The water feels so alien on my skin but I let it wash over me. I scrub my skins with all the shampoo I can find until it's red and raw. I wash my hair at least three times, trying to clean every bit of dirt, blood, anything that could've come back with me from the Capitol. Eventually I turn off the shower, wrap myself in a towel and go back to my room. A fire is burning, and the rose is gone. Sae must've known.

I sit on my bed, watching the flames for a long time until I realise I'm shivering. I'm dry, but naked, so I find the first clothes in my dresser, and climb into bed. I hope that maybe my bed will provide some comfort, but the faces of the dead I've seen haunt me as much as ever.

* * *

Sleep is temporary. I wake up several times in the night to the sound of myself screaming and feel across my bed for something that isn't there.

Eventually, when it gets light outside I allow myself out of bed and go for another shower. I swear I can still smell the blood on my hands.

I hear Sae come in, and after a lengthy amount of time I turn off the shower. I braid my wet hair, dress in the same clothes I slept in and make my way downstairs. She doesn't comment on my washing or change of clothes.

"Finally slept in a bed last night, eh girl?" I nod in response and take the bowl of whatever food she's made for me.

We sit in silence whilst she cleans the kitchen, until she remembers something.

"Oh yes, I forgot to tell you. The boy's back," I stop eating and look straight at her. She can only mean one boy, if she says it like that. Peeta's back in District 12.

"Why's he back here?" surely Peeta wouldn't want to move back here. He's lost even more than I have.

"I don't know, child. I just saw him moving back into his house yesterday. Got off the afternoon train."

I contemplate this situation. Peeta is back in District 12, and not just back, but practically living next door. How can I avoid him now? Surely he still wants to hurt me. Even after what happened in the Capitol.

"I thought he'd gotten a job in the Capitol," I say, "He'd been there so long."

"Like I said child, I don't know. You'd better ask him yourself," Ask him myself? Is she kidding?

I don't reply. I eat the rest of my bowl and Sae decides I am well enough to be left by myself for the rest of the day. She shows me where the food is. She reminds me to pick up the phone to Dr. Aurelius. I nod, but have no intention of doing such a thing.

I walk her to the door, and she goes to leave but then stops in the doorway.

"There's a box out here for you child," she says, looking back at me. I follow her into the doorway and see it. A small baking tin is sitting on my porch, with a note on the top. I squint at the sunlight and take my first steps outdoors in months. The air is cool out, on the cusp of spring and I wrap my arms around my body as I kneel to get a closer look. It's an envelope actually, and in a scrawl of what his handwriting used to be is just 'Katniss". I pick up the box and envelope and step back inside the door. Sae waves goodbye and promises to be back for breakfast tomorrow. I wave and walk slowly down the hallway, carrying the tin. I go back into the kitchen, place the tin and envelope on the side and stare for a while. What does this mean? What does he want from me? I decide to open the tin before the envelope.

I prise the lid off, and the most delicious smell envelopes the room. It's a smell I'm all too familiar with, and sure enough, sitting in the tin, are 3 perfect cheese buns. I wonder what this means. I wonder if they're full of poison to try and kill me. Probably. I put the lid of the tin back and decide to read the envelope.

In the envelope is just a small piece of paper with the same scrawl. All it says is:

_Katniss_

_I remembered that cheese buns were your favourite._

_Real or not real?_

_Peeta_

I stuff the note back in the envelope and throw the tin on the side. Almost definitely poisoned.

I spend the day looking through my father's old book of edible plants, the book that helped me survive all those years ago. And of course this makes me think of Peeta. Everything does, sooner or later.

Hunger overcomes me by mid-afternoon and I go to the fridge. My scattered mind cannot remember what Sae told me to do about lunch. I suppose I will have to do without it. Unless…I look longingly over at the tin but resist. And then I hear a hiss coming in from the back door and see Buttercup lurking. He's been doing that a lot recently. He still hates it here, but he's where any sign of food is. I decide to test the buns out on him.

I chuck him a small piece of one and he sniffs it before devouring it in one. After an hour he hasn't dropped dead, surprisingly, and I am so hungry that I decide it would be a shame to waste them.

When I've finished eating them, I go back to the tin. I don't really know what to do with it. It would be weird to keep it. The whole situation is quite bizarre. I decide to leave it back out on the front porch. The less I have to remind myself of him, the better.

I go to find the tin and I find the envelope. Just seeing his handwriting makes me want to scream. I end up scribbling all of it out and ripping it apart, but leaving one word clean and in the tin. Four letters.

I place the tin back outside where I found it this morning. I catch sight of the lights from his house on, and try to look away as quickly as possible. I get back inside before he comes out and tries to strangle me or worse.

But not before I catch sight of a dandelion growing out of the bottom of his house, amongst the grass, bright yellow amongst the green. The first dandelion of the spring.


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry the wait was a bit longer than expected! School has been crazy this week and yeah :') I'll try and update it once a week if possible though! Also thank you to everyone for such wonderful feedback, it was really lovely!**

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Sae is already downstairs making breakfast when I get up. I hardly slept last night, my dreams filled with screaming mutts that morphed into the face of every person I've watched die. I shudder as the face of Prim's mutt resurfaces into my mind. I try to bury the image with the rest of the things that haunt me.

I sit at the table and watch her bustle around the kitchen making breakfast. My eyes glaze round the room and catch sight of the same tin from yesterday sitting on the side.

"Did he not take it back?" I ask. Sae turns from the stove, cooking god knows what. I don't think I want to know.

"I don't know, child. It was on the porch this morning, but there's something in it." Which means he collected it last night, put something else in it, probably with another note, then dropped it off on my doorstep again early this morning. I don't really know what to make of it.

Sae gives me breakfast and I eat it absent-mindedly, trying to figure out exactly what Peeta is trying to do. Sae talks to me about the re-building of the town. They're moving the rubble right now, finding some remains of the dead, trying to identify them. She says once it's all been moved they're going to re-build the town bigger and better, and try to create more jobs for everyone. They can try, but maybe they should realise that the dead never really leave us.

When I'm finished I help Sae clear away and she leaves. I don't know whether she trusts me enough know to keep myself alive or she has other things to do. All the same I'm glad for the peace and quiet.

I stare at the tin a while after Sae leaves before getting up and investigating its contents. The note isn't on the tin this time, but inside, along with three cheese buns, the same as yesterday. The note reads:

_Katniss,_

_Thanks. Dr Aurelius told me to ask you if I wasn't sure about something. Some memories are shinier than others and it's difficult telling what's real. Have some more though, seeing as you like them so much._

_See you around,_

_Peeta_

"See you around". I highly doubt that Peeta. I have no intention of leaving my house any time soon.

I wander around for a while, moving from room to room. Some haven't been touched since before I left for the Quell. A thick layer of dust lies on the study where Snow threatened me all that time ago. I can't stay in the room long before I feel like I'm going to throw up.

I find Buttercup in Prim's room, lying on her bed. I sit beside him, and for once he doesn't object. I hug my knees against my chest and try and hold in the sobs that threaten to escape as I look around. It's completely untouched from when she left. She still has a couple of necklaces lying on her dresser. Her hairbrush is still full of her fine blonde locks; in her closet contains her prettiest dresses she used to wear for interviews.

My vision blurs and strangled noises fill the room. I can feel wetness on my cheeks and figure out the sobs finally escaped from me, and crash around me, taking me down. Buttercup doesn't move, he just sits with his eyes open, watching. I curl into a ball, making myself as small as I possibly can, shutting out the rest of the world. Even her bed still smells of her faintly. Fresh as a raindrop.

Eventually my eyes run dry and my breathing regulates, slightly. Enough for me to uncurl from myself and look around. It's then I see the picture on the mantelpiece. It was taken when I got back to District 12 from the first games. Prim and I didn't know the picture was being taken and we were caught in an embrace. She's smiling so brightly and looks so beautiful. I touch the picture and move on before my emotions escape me again.

I go back downstairs and stare at the pile of letters by the door. There are probably a hundred or so, and I collect them and take them to the kitchen. I have no plan to go through them, but just taking them to somewhere else makes me feel like I've done something.

I'm reading through my father's plant book again when the phone rings. At first I just leave it, but it keeps persisting and it starts to give me a headache so I pick it up.

"Ms Everdeen?" Dr Aurelius' voice rings loud and clear down the receiver.

"Yes?" I clear my throat. There's a pause.

He sounds surprised when he responds, "Well, you must be feeling better!" I can almost hear him shaking his head in shock, "You've started taking the medication then?"

"No," I frown. Sae hasn't even said anything about medication.

"So you've come about yourself?" he sounds even more perplexed. I consider hanging up the phone if he's just going to do this the entire time.

"I suppose," I wouldn't say come about is the right phrase. Going through the motions is better. Eating, sleeping. It's not much.

"Well, that's good to hear! Improvement! But you should take your medication, Katniss. It might help deal with the … pain."

The pain. He means the grief. I consider this option. It would make life a lot easier. Get by in life drugged up, live like the morphings from the Quell, blissful in their haze. Or like Haymitch in his drunken stupor, blotting out the nightmares and the memories. But I have to remind myself that that's not living. And that's not what she would've wanted.

"No. I'll be fine," I reply.

"Have you been outside yet?"

"No. Just to my front porch for a couple of seconds and then back again."

"No, I wouldn't have expected you to really," There is a silence where I'm almost sure he's going to hang up on me, but the question I've been solely wanting to ask, that's been on the tip of my tongue, finally slips out.

"Why did he come back?"

"Excuse me, Miss Everdeen?"

"Peeta," I gulp. It's the first time I've said his name in forever, "Why did he come back to District 12?"

Dr Aurelius pauses, "Well, he requested it."

"Do you know why? I mean, why didn't he go somewhere else?" I think of all Peeta's lost here. His whole family, his memories, his whole life really. Surely it would've been easier to move to another district, or maybe get a job in the Capitol, reforming the new government. He would've been good at something like that.

"You have to understand this, Miss Everdeen. Peeta has recovered extraordinarily well from his hijacking. He's still not recovered, not by a long shot, but he never should have. The Capitol tortured him so much, no normal person would've been able to recover from it."

But Peeta did. Of course he did.

"However, like I said, he's not recovered, certainly not enough to move somewhere new and get a job and go on like a normal person. However he is able to look after himself, and if he takes his medication, he should be able to handle his flashbacks in due time."

"Flashbacks?"

"Sometimes… he gets fits. Certain things trigger it, a buzz of some bees, the sight of needles, very bright, clashing colours and so on. The lines begin to blur again and he can't remember what's real and what isn't. But he's pulling through; hopefully he'll be okay. But District 12 seemed like a good option for him."

"What makes you say that?"

"I suppose District 12 is comforting for him. The Capitol couldn't fiddle with many memories from back there. Also, well, we were hoping you could perhaps… help."

"Help?"

"Peeta has questions, and lots of them can't really be answered by anyone other than you." This is true. But I'm sure most of those questions I can't figure out myself.

"And you were hoping I would help."

"Well, it was a thought. Of course it's entirely up to you, but it would really help with his treatment, Katniss-"

I cut him off. I can't deal with this right now, "I have things to do, doctor."

"Oh okay, well I'll ring again soon-"

"Bye," I place the phone back on the receiver before he can say anything more. I wrap my arms around myself and go upstairs to my room.

I sit by the window and watch the world move silently by until my stomach starts growling. I heat Sae's mystery meat stew she's left the last few days and eat it as fast as I can, so as not too taste it too much. Peeta's tin lies on the side. I look at the note again and then at the contents. My craving overrides my head and before I know it, there is nothing but the note and a few crumbs left.

I tear up the note like the last time, and throw it in the fire. I don't leave anything for him this time. Maybe he'll get the message eventually and leave me alone.

I place the tin back out on the porch and run back inside, to the warmth. I go up to my room and resume my place from the afternoon.

Dusk casts an entirely different picture of course. The houses occupied, by Peeta, Haymitch and a few returning residents, glow in the dim light and the trees are dark shadows, swaying in the evening breeze. All is still, and I'm considering whether my perch would be a viable place to sleep, or whether I'd fall to the floor from my nightmares, when a figure moves in the ever-growing darkness.

The figure emerges from the house two doors down. He puts his hands in his pockets; it's fairly cold outside in the evening, even now. He keeps his head down, looking at the ground as he trudges down the path, towards my house. The headlamps that line the village occasionally catch him, and his hair glows golden in the light. He's skinnier than in my memories, but maybe he has been for a while and I just hadn't noticed. His hair's longer than usual, his waves falling into his eyes. I can't make out specifics from up here and in the dim light, but he crouches when he walks, something else I don't remember about him. He's such a different boy from the one who tossed me the bread all those years ago, the one who confessed his love for me in front of the whole nation, who held me in the cave and on the train. I suppose I'm different too though.

He gets to my porch and I'm fairly sure he's going to knock on my door. A million scenarios run through my head; I could scream at him to leave me alone; I could just crawl into bed until he left me alone; I could politely tell him to go away. But he doesn't knock. He just picks up the tin I've left, opens it and looks at it for a minute, as if searching for something. When he doesn't find it he closes it and moves away. A sigh of relief washes over me and I think he's going to go back to his house, when he looks back up at the house, the headlamp nearest catching him. He searches the windows and before I can move away he finds me. His features are well lit in the artificial light, his eyes most of all. I expect them to be harsh and cold, but they're not. If anything they're confused, and looking straight at me, like he has no idea what to do.

In that moment I'm taken back to 7 years ago when he tossed me the bread, the first time he saved me. His expression was almost exactly the same, confused, but intent on what he was doing. He only caught my eye for a second back then, and the same happens now. Before I know what's happened, he's turned back around, crouched over, walking back to his house.

I watch him until he's safely back in his house, and don't move from my perch until his lights are out. I head to bed, wondering what he wants, what his intentions are, if this is all some plan to lure me in and then hurt me.

Sleep pulls me under eventually, but before consciousness slips from me completely, I can't help reach out to the empty space in my bed. But instead of finding what they're looking for, my fingers find nothing but air.


	3. Chapter 3

One day creeps into the next. I build up a routine. I wake up, and Sae is downstairs, making my food for the day. She stays till mid morning, where sure enough, a tin containing 3 symmetrical cheese buns sits on my doorstep. I bring them in and tell myself I'll leave them today. I sit and watch the fire awhile. Read through Father's plant book, adding in anything that springs to mind. Watch the mail pile up. Succumb to the longing for the contents of the tin that sits on the table. Watch the fire. Go upstairs and watch the Victor's Village settle down for the night. Eventually crawl into bed only to be welcomed by nightmares.

Doctor Aurelius calls twice a week, Tuesday and Fridays. I keep our conversations short. He tells me to get fresh air. Eventually, after being cooped up in the house for weeks on end, I decide maybe he could be right.

I start to walk Sae out a bit more each day. At first, just a few more steps across the porch. Eventually to the edge. Then down the steps, onto the ground. A few metres down the street. It soon comes to where I can walk her to the edge of the Victor's Village and around the street a few times and not get tired.

Today is the warmest it's felt in a long time. Sae opens all the curtains and windows and lets it envelope the house. It almost feels like a home.

I walk her out and down to the end of the Victor's Village. She never says anything, but I know she wonders why I don't carry on further. I could. But the path leads to the town, something I can't quite face right now.

The birds are singing to each other in the trees. I watch Sae as she walks slowly down the path, listening. I'm surprised they weren't killed during the bombing, but it seems there are still a few left. Maybe they were in the woods at the time. I'm sure I hear a mockingjay's melody ring through.

I'm not sure how long I stand with my eyes closed, basking in the suns warm touch, but when I open my eyes the sun looks pretty high in the sky. I head back to the house, taking my time and listening to the sounds that surround me. The birds, the rustling trees. And a scrape.

That's unusual. I turn my head in its direction and see him, kneeling on the ground surrounding his house, with a wheelbarrow nearby. It seems he's planting, although I can't make out what from here. It's odd, I think. I don't often see him come out of his house, apart from when I catch him picking up his tin in the evenings. I move on towards my house at a quicker pace now, and I'm sure he hears me because the scraping stops, and I can feel his eyes watch me go back into the house.

I close the door behind me and lean against it. I find myself sliding down till I'm on the floor, curled against the door. My nightmare from last night comes rushing back to me, hitting me with such a force it almost knocks the breath out of me.

Last night was the worst. There were no monsters, no blood, no mutts, nothing. That was it. I was curled on the floor, similar to now, surrounded by nothing. Just the screams of everyone I've ever loved echoing around me, growing louder and louder and eating me up. I woke up sweating.

I put my head between my knees and concentrate on breathing. Eventually the screams ebb away and I'm back in my house, where I can hear the birds outside and see the mail piled up on the kitchen table.

The mail. Of course.

Doctor Aurelius had said to keep myself as busy as possible, and this seems like a viable option. Weeks of post have built up; it has to take a couple of days to get through.

I ease myself up and cross into the kitchen. The amount of letters piled on the table is so overwhelming I don't know where to start. The official letters, the ones printed look much easier to deal with.

So I organise them into two piles; printed and hand-written. I'll deal with the hand-written another day.

Most of the printed ones are just stupid general notices. Stuff about the house. I was invited to a memorial for all the lives lost in the rebellion, but that was two weeks ago. Information about my restriction to District 12. Constant letters from Doctor Aurelius about how I should pick up my phone for treatment. One letter says that despite the fact the games are over and have been abolished, all the surviving victors will still receive their enormous amount of money each year. Not that it matters anyway.

I don't get through them all; there are far too many. But my eyes glaze over the hand-written pile, which is far smaller, and one catches my eye.

It's from District 4, I can tell by the symbol at the top of the envelope, but it's not my mother's handwriting. In fact, I don't recognise the handwriting at all.

I flip open the envelope and two things fall out. A piece of paper with writing on, and a grainy picture that I can't decipher.

The letter, it turns out, is from Annie. She writes to me hoping I'm recovering. She says she understands why I voted the way I did. She talks about the rebuild of District 4. How she's getting help. How she misses Finnick. I have to actually stop reading at one point, because it all suddenly overwhelms me. I've been so self-contained all this time, I've forgotten. I didn't just lose Prim, but Annie lost the love of her life. It seems she's doing even better than me.

I compose myself and carry on reading. She talks about the brand new hospital, which I read with caution in case my mother is brought up. Thankfully, she's nowhere to be seen.

She explains that the hospital has a lot of equipment that used to be in The Capitol, stuff she's heard of but I've never dreamed of. All sorts of machines and miracle workers that can treat what I thought was incurable. She says she had some sort of scan to see the baby, and that's the picture she's sent me. I try and make it out, but I can't see anything. Just grey and black lines to me.

She says how she could only get limited copies of the scan, and asks me to show Peeta, and then finishes with how she hopes to hear from me soon, when I'm feeling better.

I leave the letter on the side, but hold the picture. After all Annie's been through, I owe her this. It's fine; I can go when it's dark and just slip it through the slot for the post with the letter. He'll figure it out.

I throw the letters I've been through out and leave the rest in their piles. The work has exhausted me and I go and watch the fire for a while.

It seems I fall asleep because the next thing I know, it's almost dark outside. I'd better drop off Annie's letter before it gets too late. The sooner it's done, the better.

I put on my boots and a jacket and head outside. I haven't been out after dark in a long time and I don't like it. It reminds me of my nightmares. I walk faster.

I look up at Peeta's house and something strikes me as odd. I can't quite put my finger on it until I'm almost at the porch, but I then realise he has no lights on. Even during the daytime, Peeta always has a light on. I asked Doctor Aurelius about it once, and he said the dark brings on Peeta's flashbacks.

But now his house is completely blacked out. I think maybe he's staying at someone else's house, but who has Peeta got left here? Besides Haymitch and I, but Haymitch is too drunk to be pleasant and he's certainly not with me.

I approach his front door cautiously, and look inside his living room window, where he normally is in the evening, but there's no sign of life. Peeta always keeps his front door open, so I decide it's just easier to slip the letter in the door and be on my way. At least then he'll hear the door close and know it's there.

A scream. One I've only heard a few times, behind a glass window or in a seriously dire situation. It snaps something inside of me, because the next thing I do is tear open the door and head straight towards it.

I take the stairs two at a time, but I have trouble when I reach the landing. I've only been in Peeta's house a couple of times, and never upstairs. It has the same basic layout as my own, but his room could be any number of the doors up here.

It pierces through the house again. A cry out, to the right. I run towards it, flinging open doors and looking in only to be disappointed, and move on to the next one.

I throw a door open and finally see him. He's curled up on the floor, thrashing and crying out.

"NO! STOP PLEASE, I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING," I rush over to where he's lying. I'm almost sure he's crying.

"Peeta!" I say, shaking him, but he doesn't even register I'm here.

"PLEASE! DON'T HURT HER," this stops me for a second. What is he talking about? Did the Capitol lie to him when he was being held and say they had captured me too?

"Peeta, I'm here," I say. My mind is racing; I try and remember something Doctor Aurelius might have mentioned, something that helps. I ran over and switch the light of the room on, but it makes no difference. His screams fill up the room and I feel positively sick. His pupils are dilated, so you can hardly see the blue in them. He's shaking and sobbing between screams.

Then something clicks in place. I remember someone saying, I can't remember who, that The Capitol couldn't tamper with some memories, only the ones that were on-camera. I try and think of a moment off-screen they couldn't have altered, something that'll bring him back.

Our first day of school, of course. I pin his arms down so he can't thrash, and try and think of the words. It's been so long since I've spoken more than a sentence or two, let alone sung, and my voice is rusty, but the words come back easily. It takes the first verse before I get any kind of response. He stops resisting my hold, which I'm surprised I've managed to keep, seeing as I've been so weak, but he keeps shouting. It takes till the middle of the third verse before he quietens. I keep singing, repeating the song over and over, until I see him slowly come back. His pupils grow smaller, and his eyes are clearer. He holds still under my grip as he watches me, scared and surprised.

I trail off as he when he's stopped shouting and thrashing completely, and there's a moment of silence where we're both staring at each other, dazed and confused by the situation.

"You sang that on the first day of school. Real or not real?" he croaks. His voice is hoarse from screaming.

"Real," I say, unclasping his hands and moving away. He could still flashback again at any moment and come after me. He nods, remembering.

"Why are you even… here?" he asks. I know he doesn't mean to offend me. He's genuinely curious seeing as I've been avoiding him since he got back.

"I was dropping off something. I heard you screaming."

Something clicks in his head, "You were… protecting me?"

I flash back to when I told him that. And it's true, "That's what we do."

He nods, standing up. His eyes are full of a million questions but he doesn't say anything.

Just, "Thanks."

I nod, "Remember to leave your light on."

"I fell asleep when it was light outside and I woke up and it was dark and I don't remember much else. It just… happened."

He looks so scared and shaken, it's taking everything inside me not to reach out and comfort him. But he's still on edge. My head keeps my feet grounded.

"Lucky I was here," I head toward the door, "Annie wrote a letter. There's supposed to be some picture of her baby but I can't make it out. She asked me to show you."

"Where is it?"

"I left it downstairs," I say, "I have to go."

He nods and before my instinct gets the better of me I run down his stairs and out of his front door, turning the hallway lights on, just in case.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Okay first of all I wanted to say I'm INCREDIBLY sorry about the huge gap! I've had my GCSE Exams over here which have been extremely time consuming and stressful, but luckily most of them are done now and summer is on the horizon! I also apologise as this is more of a filler chapter I guess and it's taken so long. Enjoy anyway!**

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The only thing that's different the next morning is a tiny note slipped into the usual tin. Two words. "_Thank you_."

I don't rip this one up. I don't burn it. Instead I take it out of the tin and leave it on the side, because the phone starts ringing.

It's Dr Aurelius, which surprises me. It's a Thursday today. There is an awkward moment of silence where neither of us greets the other.

"Hello? Katniss?"

"H-Hello," I say, "Sorry, I wasn't expecting you. It's a Thursday."

"Yes, I know Katniss, but I was just on the phone with Peeta," there's a pause, like I'm supposed to understand something. When I don't, he continues, "about last night?"

Again, silence. I'm pretty sure I hear him sigh in annoyance.

"Peeta told me about his relapse, but he also told me you were there and helped him. I can never get out really what happens to him, so would you be able to tell me?"

I gulp. It was hard enough to witness, and I don't particularly want to re-visit it.

"What do you mean?"

"Well what was he doing? I need to see if they're easing off any since he left."

"Oh, right," I reply, "Well he was on the floor, thrashing. He was screaming a lot," my voice catches and I stop before it comes rushing back to me.

"What was he screaming?"

I stay silent, tempted to slam the phone down on him.

"Katniss, please, if you tell me you're helping him."

I swallow and force the words out of my mouth, "It was like he was being tortured back. He kept screaming saying he didn't know anything. And he was shaking and sobbing."

"Anything else?" I open to go on but then promptly close my mouth again. I can't quite tell him he called out for me. The whole thing felt like something that shouldn't have been seen, let alone talked about. I feel bad enough for what I've already said, "No, nothing else."

"And how did he come back again?"

Again, I feel like I can't talk about it, even to Dr Aurelius. It seems like something private, between Peeta and I, "I talked to him. About stuff before the Games. I thought it would help and it eventually did."

"Okay," I can almost hear him nodding and writing it down somewhere, "Well, there's been a slight improvement then. Do you know what caused it?"

"He fell asleep when it was light outside. When he woke up it was dark and he said he couldn't remember much else."

More writing, I'm almost sure, "Right, well thank you Katniss," he takes a pause and I can tell he wants to ask me something.

"What do you want?" I sound a lot more blunt than I intended.

"Well… it seems you might be able to help him. Medication can only do so much, but really you're the only one that can help with a lot of his memories," He takes my silence the wrong way, "Of course you don't have to it was just a thought. But please. Think about it Katniss."

"Okay."

He sighs, with relief I'm sure, "Thank you. I'll call you tomorrow."

We say goodbye and I hang up, glancing at Peeta's note still left on the side. I take it to my room and put it in my drawer, out of sight. Just for now.

The next few days bring nothing but normalcy. Sorting through my mail, one bye one, walking Sae home, getting a little further with each day. Watching the fire, although there's no need for it to really be on anymore. The weather's picked up considerably. So much so I actually consider going hunting.

At first, I don't take my bow and arrow. It's been so long since I've been in the woods that it's nice just to be surrounded by the familiar trees. It seems the bombs didn't quite make it to the woods. I don't actually need to hunt, but there's only so much of Sae's stew one person can take really.

After about a week I take my bow and arrows with me. I haven't shot in a while and my aim isn't what it used to be. But with some persistence I manage two squirrels, which is more than satisfactory.

Eventually the last letter is opened and just as swiftly thrown away and I consider what to do with my time. I go through to the fire and see the plant book propped up where I left off from last time. I sit in the armchair it's resting on and flip it over.

I read through a few pages to pass the time. I flip over the page lazily and the book almost falls to the floor. Because I'd recognise those drawings, the strokes, the colours anywhere. I watched them appear, right before my eyes.

I still remember those days, when I was tucked up in bed and unable to move, and he would sit beside me painting as I described the plant of the day. It had been one of the few things we'd ever done together close to normality.

I flick further on, not paying attention now, and find pages with writing but no drawings. I'd probably added them after the Quell was announced and Peeta was distant for a while.

I go back into the kitchen and look at the squirrels. One will last me a couple of days and by then the other will be off. I think about how much meat he's getting and assume it's probably next to none, not fresh anyway.

Before I let myself overthink, I put one of the squirrels back in my hunting bag and head out the door. It's the first time I've been outside and the air has matched the warmth of the house.

I go round the back of his house in hopes that if I slip in and out quickly he won't even realise I was there. Until he see's the bag of course. I know for a fact Peeta always keeps his back door open because he likes to keep the house smelling fresh, especially in the summer.

Sure enough the door is wide open, and I slip through quietly. His kitchen has the same layout as mine but is brighter and obviously far more used. I can see remnants of flour resting on the worktops.

I drop the bag on his kitchen table and go to leave when I hear his footsteps come round the corner.

"Hello?" he sounds confused. He probably doesn't get many visitors, if any. I try and to leave quicker but rounds the corner as I'm in the doorway, "Katniss?"

I can't leave now. Instead I half turn around, "Hi."

He rubs his eyes; he must've been sleeping, which worries me considering none of his lights are on again and it's getting late, "What are you doing here?"

"I went hunting today," I say, "I got two squirrels but I don't need both of them. I thought you might want one."

"Thanks," he smiles, "I haven't had any meat in a while."

I nod, "You remember how to skin it right?"

"I think so," he says, but I can tell he's not sure.

"Here," I say, walking back in and getting it out before he can argue. I look for a knife but apart from the dusting of flour his kitchen is completely tidy, "A knife?"

"Oh, right," he says, and gets one out of a drawer and hands it to me. I get to work straight away.

"You don't have to do that-"

"It's fine."

There's a silence whilst I peel off the skin. Peeta's never been squeamish but I can tell he's happy I'm the one doing it and not him.

"Peeta, you've got to make sure you keep a light on during the day."

"What?"

"You were asleep, and it's getting late. You could've woken up and had another fit," I pause, looking at him, "I might not have been here to help this time."

"Sorry," he says. Silence falls again as I pick out the meat he can eat and throw away the useless stuff.

"I found the plant book," I say, before I can stop myself, "Do you remember it?"

He looks up, his eyes blank. Then something clicks.

"I used to draw…?"

I nod, "I'd describe the plants and you'd draw them. Then I'd write down anything I could remember about them."

"Why'd we do that?"

I shrug, "I don't know really. For future reference I guess. Plus I was bed-ridden, it was one of the only things we could do."

His eyebrows furrow in thought, "You hurt your ankle and tailbone right?"

"Yeah," I say, "Plus it was just something… normal for once I guess."

"We've never had much of that have we?" he smirks and a smile touches the corner of my lips.

"No, I guess not," I finish the last bits with the squirrel and throw the rest in the trash. I can feel the blood on my hands, and even though I've done it a million times it still makes me feel sick. I head to his sink and refuse to look until my hands feel completely clean.

"Right," I turn back around, "That should keep you for a couple of days. If I catch too much I'll come and drop it to you okay?"

"Are you sure, you don't have to-"

"It's only fair. You get some meat, I get some cheese buns."

He nods, "Thanks. Again."

"It's okay," I say. I head toward the doorway again, but the idea that's been bugging me since it crawled into my mind earlier.

"Peeta?"

"Yeah?"

I bite my lip. Maybe it's not a good idea.

"Katniss?"

"I just…. I was looking through the book earlier and there were some drawings missing," I pause, but his face is still blank, "Would you mind coming round and doing them?"

"Okay," he nods, "Shall I come tomorrow?"

"I don't mind," I shrug, and I duck out of the door before he says anything more. I probably shouldn't have said anything anyway.

I go back to the house and make dinner out of my own squirrel. It's probably the best food I've had for weeks, since I came back to District 12. I curl up on the couch with a blanket and must fall asleep because when I'm still there when I wake up, sweating and shaking. The fire's died down considerably so I get it going again before getting a drink and heading up to bed. My throat hurts; probably from screaming.

I drift in and out of consciousness a while. I don't particularly want to sleep, but I'm so tired after hunting and visiting Peeta today that I slip under again.

When I wake up it's nearly dawn. I sit up in bed; there's no point in even attempting sleep anymore. I get dressed and run downstairs, grabbing my bow and arrow. Despite my lack of sleep and early start, my mind is racing and I need to go outside.

I can't find my game bag but I decide it doesn't matter. I run outside and into the woods, the air cool against my skin for the first time in days.

It's still barely light outside and it's hard to navigate through the woods, but I manage. The woods are teeming with life but I don't shoot anything. There's no point without my bag to carry it back in., so I start running at a steady pace. I make a mental note to myself to search for it when I get home.

It feels like barely any time has passed, but when I look up the sky is bright and the air is already heating up. I stop and rest against a tree and realise just how much I've exhausted myself. I then head back to the house before Sae arrives and wonders where I've got too.

When I arrive on my doorstep, Peeta's tin is already waiting, along with my game bag. I guess I must've left it at his in my hurry last night.

I take them both in and leave the game bag on the kitchen table. I check the tin, and sure enough there's a note inside.

_You left your game bag at mine last night. I thought you might need it._

_I'll come round tomorrow and do the book if that's okay. I have another idea too, but I'll explain it later. See you then._

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**A/N: I also wanted to say a HUGE thank you for all the reviews and favourites/story alerts. 67 reviews with only 3 chapters is completely insane and the support means everything! Feedback is always appreciated and I'm glad so many enjoy it. Just thank you lots! **_  
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	5. Chapter 5

I'm up before sunrise the next day and go out into the woods, which has become a new routine for me. I try not to think about what the day will bring and concentrate only on the quiet sounds of the animals as the woods starts to wake up. It becomes easier once the light starts to seep through the trees, and I manage to get 2 squirrels and 3 rabbits by the time I can make out the sun, well in the sky to the East. I must've been out a couple of hours by now which means I'm slowly getting better. Dr Aurelius will be pleased.

I head back with my bag almost full. It's still fairly early in the morning but the air is already sticky and warm, a sign time has been passing much faster than I'd kept track of.

When my house comes in sight, I notice Peeta sitting on the porch steps already. I hadn't expected him so early, but I guess he has trouble sleeping too. The tin he usually drops off every morning sits on his lap, and he's leaning his head against the side of the porch, deep in thought. It's not until I'm almost at the front step that he hears me, and looks up, blinking in the bright sunlight.

"You're early," I say, climbing up the steps. I hear him get up and follow after me.

"I didn't think we set a particular time," he replies.

"We didn't," I say, opening the door, "I just didn't expect you up so early."

He shrugs, "I'm always up before sunrise." He doesn't say anymore but I know what he means. His nightmares, which have always been as bad as mine, must be ten times worse now they're confused with real and fake memories, not to mention the torture he suffered in the Capitol. I can't even imagine what he goes through every night.

I close the door and walk down the hallway toward the kitchen to drop off my game bag. Peeta follows behind me, slower. I glance back and he's poking his head into the living room before turning back and following. I set my game bag down as he walks in.

"You can have some of that," I nod toward the game bag.

"Thanks," he says, looking around, "I used to come here a lot… didn't I?"

I nod, "Yeah, all the time. Like I said, before the Quell you'd come round and paint when I was injured. And you used to teach Prim how to bake sometimes." The last fact slips out before I can catch myself.

"I remember," he says, nodding, "They tried to mess with my other memories too. Not just the ones from the Games."

This stops me, and I look up at him. He says it matter-of-factly but I can tell from his eyes that it's worse than he's letting on. He looks away and sets the tin on the table.

"Did it work?" I ask cautiously. Dr Aurelius had said to try to keep the questions away from this subject matter but Peeta seems okay. The calmest I've seen him in ages.

"Not so well. But some memories have a shine to them and it makes it difficult to tell," he says.

"Okay," I nod, heading back toward the living room, "We'd better get started."

He follows me through and sits on the couch. I get the book, resting on the armchair from when I was looking through it last night, and hand it to him, sitting on the other side of the couch. He opens it up carefully and flicks through the first few pages.

"These aren't mine," he says, looking up.

"It used to be for medicine, and then my father started using it for edible plants. Yours are about halfway through," I lean over and flick to the first page of his drawings. A flash of recognition crosses his expression and he traces the outline of his drawing.

"I remember doing this," he says, and continues looking through. I head upstairs whilst he looks through and find his old paints he used when he was round here in a cupboard in my room. I'm not sure what or how much we need so I put them all into a box and go back downstairs. Peeta's still in the same position, tracing one of his paintings, probably trying to remember.

He must hear me because he looks up, startled. I'm taken back to a similar situation, when he caught me staring whilst he was painting. It's difficult to believe that was just over a year ago, when we sat next to each other on my bed as he drew and I watched. Now we can barely look each other in the eye.

"Where did you go?" he asks as I look away, embarrassed.

"You used to keep some paints round here," I say lifting the box up so he can see, "It was easier than having to bring them here and take them back every day."

"Okay," He nods. I sit down on the couch and put the box between us. He doesn't look at it immediately, but keeps looking through the book, page after page of colour. He reaches the blank page where we left off and only then glances at them. He takes the box from between us and props it on top of the book. When he opens it, I see the paints are exactly as we left them the last time he painted here, some pots knocked over and half empty, the paintbrushes stiff from their lack of use.

"Which plant are we doing then?" He says looking up, but his glance is still directed toward the fireplace. He seems twitchy, nervous. Dr Aurelius says he has good days and bad days. Maybe this is one of his bad days.

"I picked it this morning," I say, getting up, "Let me go get it."

I find it at the bottom of my game bag and put it back on the sofa in between us. It seems a little too close for comfort, just handing it to him.

He picks it up cautiously and examines it. His forehead furrows in concentration, but his hands handle the flower like it was a fragile piece of glass. He then lays it down on the free page and picks out a paintbrush and some colours, and it's like he's blocked out the rest of the world. It must be therapeutic for him. Shutting out world, the nightmares, the flashbacks and being able to just concentrate on the paints. After a while he looks almost relaxed. He coughs a little but his concentration doesn't falter

"Do you want a drink?" I ask. He jumps slightly at the sound of my voice and looks up startled. Then he sees me across from him and looks away quickly, back at his canvas.

"Yes please," Peeta says, "Some tea, with no-"

"No sugar?" I say, the corners of my mouth pulling up. He then looks up at me for a second, and nods.

"Yeah. No sugar," and his hand goes back to his canvas and I can see he's absorbed again.

I go to the kitchen and find his favourite tea bags, the ones with a hint of camomile. The house is almost completely silent, except for the crackle of the fire and the sound of the kettle boiling the water. I make myself a hot chocolate whilst I'm at it and set them down on the table in front of the couch. I resume my position and sip my hot chocolate, watching the fire.

I didn't even think he'd be noticing me really until he suddenly stops and looks up.

"It's spring. Why do you keep the fire on all day?" he asks, his eyes flicking between the flames and I. This catches me, because I've never really thought about it. When it looks like it's dying down I just put some more wood on that Sae brings me. I shrug, my eyes unmoving and I can see from the corner of my eye that he picks up his tea and takes a sip, before returning to his work.

I sit quietly as he works on it. At first I try to stay gazing at the fire, but I find myself slipping and looking at him. There's something special about the way he paints, and from my memory his expression hasn't changed. The intensity of his gaze, the concentration in his face, his careful hands mixing and stroking flourishes of colour onto the page.

It's so quiet that when my stomach makes a noise it seems like it fills the entire room. I realise it must be gone lunchtime by now and I didn't have breakfast either.

Peeta looks up from the book, the painting of the plant, looking nearly complete, and looks at me. A smile tugs on his lips and I can feel mine form a smile too. We keep each other's eye for a second, just smiling, and it's almost like before again. But then he breaks the moment by looking away, his eyes clouding over, thinking about something. It takes a minute before he looks up again.

"Some things don't change eh?" he says. I can tell he's trying to get back the moment from before, so I smile and look down.

"I guess not," I reply.

We sit in silence for a moment, until Peeta tries to catch my eye again, "So shall we make some food?"

"I can make something," I say, getting up.

"No, it's okay," he says, getting up, a little awkwardly. His prosthetic leg still gives him problems sometimes. I don't protest any further; Peeta's cooking skills have always greatly outranked my own.

He follows me into the kitchen and looks in the store, "What do you want?" He calls back. I follow him in, looking at my scant supplies. I haven't done an order in weeks, mostly living off my own game and Peeta's cheese buns.

"I got 3 squirrels and 2 rabbits earlier. We could use those and split whatever's left between us," I say. He nods.

"You used to like Lamb Stew, real or not real?" He asks, his face twisting into that look that takes over whenever he can't separate what's real and what isn't.

"Real," I say, "It's one of my favourite meals."

"Well, we haven't got lamb," he says, looking away from the store and heading past me, to the kitchen, "But will Squirrel Stew be okay?"

I follow him back out to the table, "Sure. I'll skin it and you can cook it."

He nods and leaves me to work. He heads back into the living room, I assume to carry on painting until I'm done in peace, but he brings the book and our mugs out. I hear him put the kettle on and whilst I'm skinning the squirrel he makes our drinks up again.

"Do you have sugar in your hot chocolate?" he asks, turning to me. I put my knife down quickly just in case it triggers something.

"Yeah, two spoonful's please."

"In hot _chocolate_?"

"I like it sweet," I shrug, "Anyway the hot chocolate here isn't as nice."

He shakes his head and hands me my mug. By the time he's made his tea I've finished and cleaned the squirrel. I leave him to cook and start practising writing the information for the plant. It turns out having not written anything in months means my handwriting's deteriorated to something less illegible than Peeta's. I go from trying to write out the paragraph to just my name, and even that takes practise.

By the time Peeta's served the stew for both of us I've just about mastered my name.

"What are you doing?"

I set my pen down and take a bite out of the stew, "Practising my writing to go underneath the painting. It's not as good as it once was."

He nods, "I remember you writing underneath them."

"How much do you remember," I say, cautiously, "about… here?"

"Most of it's pretty clear," he says, "I mean they couldn't show me anything from here could they? That's what makes it all so confusing. I have these memories of you trying to kill me and then I have a memory of us walking through District 12 together. And I mean, now I know what's real and what isn't, to an extent. But the fake memories are so strong… it's hard to tell when something triggers me."

"So that's how you remembered about… before?"

"You mean the bread?" he asks, "Yeah. And I remember Gale being whipped. And training before the Quell. A lot of other stuff too."

I don't push him. He's already told me far more than he needed too.

"Well, if you're ever having trouble," I say, "You can ask me."

When he looks at me this time, his eyes are the clearest they've been all day, "Thanks."

We eat the rest in silence, split the cheese buns between us, and leave the dishes for later. We head back to our original positions. I practise my writing whilst Peeta puts the finishing touches on the painting. When he's done, I decide that my writing's not going to dramatically improve any time soon and write the information down anyway. At least it's legible now.

"When did it get so late?" I hear him say, and when I look up, he's right. The room's in half-darkness. I can see the sky outside the window filled with a brilliant orange, "I'd better get home."

"Okay," I say, "Wait here though."

I head into the kitchen and grab my game bag. I take out a squirrel and rabbit for myself and take the bag back through.

"Here," I say, "You can have them."

"Thanks," he says, looking inside and smiling, "I'll drop the bag off tonight so you have it tomorrow."

It's my turn to say thanks, and I walk him to the door. He looks up at the sky momentarily, still smiling and then turns back to me.

"Shall I come round tomorrow?"

"Sure."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Apologies for the long wait _again_! But this is my longest chapter to date so I feel there's a reward in the waiting. Enjoy!**

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After that, Peeta comes round most days. I'll get up, go hunting, and when I come back he'll be waiting on the steps to my house, tin on his knee. If he isn't, I know it's a bad day and I don't disturb him.

My birthday creeps up on me and catches me unawares. I probably would've completely forgotten if Peeta hadn't reminded me the night before.

"Did you want to do anything special tomorrow?" he says. I'm curled up in a blanket by the fire and he's on the sofa, still painting.

"What do you mean?" I frown, eyes trained on the flames.

"Tomorrow's May the eighth, Katniss," he says. I can tell he's put his paintbrush down and is waiting for my reaction. I don't respond for a few minutes, and he must think I've fallen asleep or something.

"Katniss?"

I roll on to my back so I'm staring at the ceiling, "No. I don't want to do anything." I say.

"Sure?" he asks. I roll my eyes.

"Yes. I'm sure." I say, sitting up. I can feel my eyelids drooping already. It's not unusual for Peeta to stay this late anymore. I don't really mind; he's better company than Buttercup anyway.

I leave my blanket on the floor and head towards the hall. This is Peeta's signal to leave. He tried staying one night to finish a piece after I'd gone to bed but I made him leave. I still don't feel entirely safe around him, and who knows what could happen when I'm asleep and off guard.

I make sure he's out of the door and safely away before I head up to bed. Peeta's statement of my birthday tomorrow has rattled me. Before the rebellion, turning eighteen meant your last eligible year for the Games, the ability to start work, the first time anyone really let themselves believe that they might get away with not being picked. Now, I have no idea what it means.

As soon as the first glimmer of light touches the sky, I head out to the woods. It seems right. I've spent every other birthday out here for years. First with my father, and then Gale would bring me out here. We'd hunt and laugh and he'd often bring some food. We'd spend the whole day out in the woods. Even on my last birthday, he came out to the woods with me. It was a Sunday, just before the Quell was announced. It was cloudy that day, maybe a sign of things to come. Today, on the other hand, the sky is as clear and blue as the sea.

I hunt for a while, taking advantage of the fact that the woods are teeming with life at this hour. I decide to rest for a while and watch the sun rise, and then continue on until its heat starts to become unbearable. I had planned to hide away here all day, but I'm sweating and panting and I know it would be best for me to go home. Maybe I can slip into my room for a few hours and come out again later.

As I approach my house, I see a package sitting on the steps. For a fleeting moment I think Peeta must have put it there, but then again, surely he'd give me something himself? Perhaps my mother, but I'm almost certain she wouldn't. She hasn't been in contact since I was brought here.

Upon further inspection, it turns out the package is from Plutarch. I take it in with me. I call out to make sure nobody's in, and then inspect the package further. I unravel the paper and a note sits atop the box, small and neat. A small happy birthday wish and best wishes, ridiculously upbeat. I roll my eyes and get a knife to cut through the box. At first it's difficult to make out the contents but I soon realise what it is and can feel the bile rising in my throat.

It's the bow and arrow Beetee designed for me in Thirteen. Plutarch must've salvaged it and thought I'd appreciate a special bow and arrow. But all I can think as I stare at it is that the hands that designed this are the same hands that designed the bomb that killed her. I barely make it to the bathroom before I start retching.

I'm slumped on the floor when I hear the door shut, the loud footsteps pacing through my house. They stop for a minute and then I hear him calling for me. He runs upstairs but I don't bother to move. He sounds frantic now, and it takes all my effort to reach up and open the door. He hears and finds his way to me.

"Katniss," he's right in front of me now, but I feel strange, disconnected from the situation. I know his hand is on my arm and his face is too close for comfort but I can barely feel it, "Katniss, talk to me."

I gulp, a horrible taste washing through my mouth from throwing up. I try to say something, but what do I say?

I grip the side of the bath and haul myself to my feet. The room spins for a minute and I feel like I could faint at any second, but it comes back into focus soon enough. Only then am I fully aware of his hand on my arm and the close proximity we're in. I jerk away from him and hug my arms around myself.

He realises what he's done and moves away as well, "Sorry," he says, "Katniss, are you cold?"

I have no idea what he's talking about until I look at my hand gripping to the bath, which is shaking furiously. In face I'm shaking all over, but I'm not cold. If anything, it's too hot in here.

I swallow again and this time I manage some words, "Can you get it out?"

He nods, "Are you going to be okay?"

"Just get it out!" I almost shout and he lingers for a second before heading into the living room. I sit on the lip of the tub and close my eyes. I try and block out the noises of the house and the thoughts and memories swirling around my head. I cover my ears with my hands and try and think of other things. Happy things. How the lake's water feels on a hot summer day. The tree's blossoming in the spring. The smile of a boy I once knew.

I hear faint footsteps coming back to me and before he tries to shake me to get my attention I put my hands in my lap. I'm shaking less and my breathing is less urgent, but I don't know if I can move quite yet.

"It's gone," he says, hovering in the doorway.

"Thank you," I breathe. I have no idea how he got rid of it but I don't think I really want to know.

He smiles a little, "It's okay."

He waits a while whilst I pull myself together. When I feel stable enough, I push myself from the lid and slowly make my way across the room. I skirt 'round him in the doorway and head through to the kitchen.

The first thing that catches my attention is the cake sitting on the side. It's beautifully frosted in a light green colour, but instead of admiring it, I turn to Peeta.

"What is _that_?" I say, gesturing to the cake. Peeta comes through into the kitchen.

"I only came round to drop it off. You need to have _something_ on your birthday," I scowl at him until his face falls slightly, "Besides, it's a good job I did make it and decide to bring it over, isn't it?"

I can't deny him this fact. I have no idea if I would've made it out of the bathroom if he hadn't moved the package, snapped me out of it.

"I suppose so."

"And it's your favourite colour, right?" I nod and he smiles. He's obviously in one of his better moods today.

In the end I cave in and end up taking a slice. We sit opposite each other at the table and Peeta talks whilst I sort of listen. The cake's delicious but my mind's elsewhere. When I'm finished I thank him quietly and try to escape upstairs but Peeta stops me, frowning at the counter.

"Katniss, have you been taking your pills?" I attempt to lie but my face says it all. I expect a lecture but he just shrugs, "Maybe that's why you reacted the way you did."

I want to be angry with him, but I'm more embarrassed than anything. The way I reacted to the present was way out of proportion. I should've just thrown it out and hoped maybe Haymitch's geese tore it to pieces. But I don't want to take the stupid medication. I can't let myself live in a haze, I remind myself again. I have to live for her.

"I don't want to take them," I shrug. Peeta frowns at me disapprovingly, almost like a parent.

"I know why you don't want to take them, Katniss," he says. He picks the pills up in his hands and holds them out, "They're not those kind of drugs."

I eye him suspiciously, "How would you know?"

"Because I take most of these," he says, "And more."

I'm still wary, but he eventually coaxes me into taking them. I have to admit, they help me relax and ease up. My muscles are stiff from being tense all day. I'm exhausted and Peeta tries to send me up to bed.

"You go. I'll go up when you've left," I say. He rolls his eyes, his mood too good today to be affected by my awful one. After some arguing I eventually get my own way and he heads to the door.

"You promise?"

"Yes," I roll my eyes this time. I'm tired and his good mood is becoming annoying.

"One last thing," he says, "Happy birthday Katniss."

* * *

A few days later, Peeta is leaning against the couch as I make lunch in the kitchen. Normally he prepares the meals, but he looked so invested in what he was doing today I didn't want to disturb him. I can see him from where I'm slicing the bread he's brought over and suddenly looks up deep in thought. He's silent for a minute or two before saying, "Katniss?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you have another book like this?"

"I think so, in my mother's room," I say frowning, "Why?"

He gets up from his position and comes into the kitchen, "I was thinking maybe we could have a book like the plant one," he pauses, "But for the people we knew."

His suggestion catches me so off guard that I almost end up cutting myself with the knife, "What do you mean?"

"Well, I was thinking, I could draw the people that are," he pauses, not able to find the right word, "gone. Or stick in a picture if we have them and write about them. Sort of like the plants. Whilst they're still fresh in our minds and we can remember them. Then if we forget things later on it'll always be there," I remain silent. "And it might help me remember some things now."  
I know he's expecting me to tell him no, it's a stupid idea, I can't handle it right now. And in some ways, it's true. But what he's said was also true. And if it is too painful I can just simply tell him I don't want to do it anymore.

"I mean, we don't have to," he says, looking away, heading back to his original position.

"No, it's a good idea," I say, stopping him in his tracks, "We can give it a go, at least."

He nods. "And I was thinking Haymitch could always help us with the people we didn't know so well."

"Is Haymitch even coherent enough to do that?" I crack a smile out of him.

"Well whenever I drop off his orders he grunts at me enthusiastically," he shrugs.

"You pick his orders up for him?

"Do you really think Haymitch would be able to go to the station and back without collapsing into a bush?" This time it's me who cracks a smile. But what worries me is that Peeta goes alone, and anything in the town could set him off. I know machines have been moved in recently and he's particularly susceptible to loud noises.

"Speaking of," he says, "I need to go collect the orders today. Do you want me to get yours?"

Up until recently Sae had been getting my orders, but recently Peeta's taken over that job. It makes more sense as he's here most of the day and only lives a few doors down.

"No. I might as well come with you," I shrug, but he eyes me suspiciously. Up until now I've avoided going into town at all costs. But it's just a bit of rubble now and all of the bodies and limbs have been cleared. Besides I didn't go hunting this morning. I need some fresh air.

We eat lunch and then head out as a sort of extended break. The walk into town is quiet and I keep an eye on him for any signs of a flashback. He seems calm, though, so I let myself take in the surrounding scenery. As we come closer to the town I finally see what everyone's been talking about. It's much clearer than the last time I saw it, less rubble and no sign of emaciated limbs. I try and see if any of the machines are at work, but it appears they've stopped and the workers are on their lunch break. Peeta's eyes linger on the spot where the bakery used to be, but I walk ahead and he follows quickly. The place is teeming with cold dust and I find myself spluttering a few times.

Peeta then has to take the lead, as I have no idea where to go to collect the orders. A big white tent has been erected just behind the train station and I can see boxes piled high behind the people handing them out.

"There's going to be a proper building eventually," Peeta explains, "But this is all they can do until the rubbles cleared and the supplies come in."

A thought strikes me, "What do people live in?"

"Similar things I think. Probably more stable but I'm not sure really, I haven't been over that way," I think of the 9 houses in the Victors Village standing empty. They could easily house two or 3 families, but I suppose whoevers in charge hasn't thought of that yet. I ask Peeta what he thinks and if he knows but he has no clue.

"Do you want to come in?" He asks a few feet from the tent. I shake my head and stand at the foot of the tent as he lines up. I scan the place for people I recognise and there are a few I do. Some people catch my eye but I'm not sure they even know who I am. My skin is far paler than it usually is from being indoors and barely looks human; my hair had to be cut off from being burned and barely touches my shoulders. I'm still under my recommended weight and my clothes hang off of me.

Peeta eventually comes back and hands me my box. It's heavier than I thought and I have to stop a couple of times on our way back for a rest.

"I'm not surprised," he says as I put it down for the third time, "your arms look like twigs."

I know he's trying to tease me but I scowl at him all the same. If he wasn't precariously carrying two heavy boxes I would've hit him but I restrain myself. He leaves me at my door and says he'll talk to Haymitch and his idea and probably come over later. I go in and unpack the box, then go through my mail. As I'm halfway through the phone rings, and sure enough it's Doctor Aurelius. He asks his usual routine questions and I avoid telling him about my birthday episode. It's much easier to get him off the phone that way.

Peeta comes round late in the afternoon and starts making dinner. I stay in the kitchen for a while, but then I don't feel so good so I go and lie down on the couch. He brings dinner to the living room and I try to eat it on my lap but don't even eat half of it.

"Is it not good?" Peeta says between mouthfuls.

"No it's good," I insist, "But I just don't feel like eating." That comment makes Peeta look instantly worried. It's not often I decline food.

"Are you feeling okay?" he puts his plate down.

"I don't know, I feel sort of weird," I say, "I'm sure I'll sleep it off. I'll be fine in the morning."

Peeta doesn't look convinced but I insist I'll be okay. He leaves me on the sofa and I make sure he's gone before I attempt to get up. But as soon as I stand up I feel like I'm going to be sick so I lie back down on the sofa and accept this as my bed for tonight.

I hardly get any sleep, but it's not because of nightmares or the couch. Around midnight my head starts thumping and if I try to move my whole body aches. I manage to doze a few times but by dawn my throat aches and I heave myself up to get some water. The room spins but I carry on walking, thinking it'll pass. Instead I find myself falling, the room spinning and the floor hurtling toward me.

* * *

**A/N: First of all I want to thank everyone! Having all these follows and favourites is kind of crazy considering this was only supposed to be a one-shot. So thanks to everyone who reviews and favourites and everything cuz it really does inspire me to keep writing and everything. Anyway I know things have been a bit slow up until now and i appreciate you all sticking with it (it's honestly just how I imagined it would happen. I always saw it would take them a long time so I wanted to kind of convey that I guess?) But anyway, what with things picking up I should be updating faster, what with a free summer and more interesting things to write. So once again, thank you!**


	7. Chapter 7

The first thing I notice when I wake up is that my head is pounding. I try to sit up but my vision starts to blacken again, so I lay back down. I've somehow moved to my room, although I have no recollection of doing such thing. The last thing I can remember is the kitchen turning sideways, and then nothing.

I turn my head to the window and notice the light's coming in at a strange angle. It must be the afternoon, perhaps early evening. Which means I've lost almost a whole days worth of my memory.

Then I hear some footsteps from downstairs, footsteps that can only be Peeta's. I try and call out his name but almost no sound comes out. I gulp and try again, but all I manage is a scratchy and faint 'Peeta!' that I'm fairly sure he didn't hear. I turn to the beside table and bang my fist on it. It hurts, but it distracts me from my head for a few seconds. There's a silence downstairs for a moment and then I hear him making his way up the stairs.

"Katniss?" he says as he walks in the room, "You're awake."

"What happened?" my voice is still scratchy and it hurts to talk. He comes closer in the room. He's placed a chair near the side of my bed and takes a seat.

"I came in yesterday morning and you were on the floor. I guess you collapsed," he says. He brought a mug of hot chocolate up with him and sips it, waiting for my reaction.

"So I've been out for almost two days?" I say.

"Yeah, you hit your head hard on the floor and got a concussion. And when I brought you up I noticed you had a fever so I called Doctor Aurelius and from your symptoms it seems like you have the flu," he explains, "He's sent some medication for you on the next train here."

"So even more pills for me to take," I groan, "How did I get it anyway? I've barely been around anyone apart from you."

"It's been going around town, apparently. And you did come with me a few days ago so you probably picked it up then," he shrugs. I try and make myself more comfortable but everything aches. In the end I'm just lying on my back again, my head turned toward where Peeta's sitting.

"Did Doctor Aurelius say how long I'd have it?" I ask.

"It depends on how much you relax and let yourself get better," a smirk crosses his face, "which means it could be a while."

I scowl which amuses him even more, "But if it's contagious then you shouldn't be in here, should you?"

He shakes his head, "I'm fine. They gave me a bunch of shots before I left the Capitol."

"I thought needles set you off."  
"They do," he looks down, "I had to be sedated… quite a bit. It's a bit hazy really."

It's hard on days like these, days when Peeta seems calm and almost like his old self, to believe that the sight of a needle can make him go almost crazy, "It's okay though. It means that I don't have to worry about catching anything which is good."

There's silence for a while. Peeta drinks his hot chocolate and gets up when he's finished.

"Are you hungry at all?" he asks. I try and think of one meal that would satisfy me, but just the thought of eating makes me want to throw up. I shake my head.

"Katniss Everdeen turning down food," he says, "This must be a first."

I consider throwing a pillow at him but decide it's not worth the pain of having to move.

"I'm just going to go get the book and I'll come back up," he says.

"You don't have to be in here 24/7 you know," I reply.

He stops in the doorway, "What happens if you throw up before you can grab the bucket. Do you really want to clear that up?" he says, and walks out of the room. I look down the side of my bed, and sure enough there are towels and a bucket just in case. He's right though. I guess I'd rather not sit in my own sick.

He comes back up a few minutes later with his paints and two books. The old, faded one I recognise instantly, but there's another black one that must be the one from my mother's room that I mentioned the other day. He sits down and opens it, but I can't see what's inside it from my position.

"Have you started it?" I croak. He shakes his head and picks up the plant book.

"I was going to wait until you were a bit better. I can't do it by myself," he says, "Besides there's still a few in here I haven't finished."

For the rest of the day we don't talk. He can tell it hurts me to anyway, so he sits in the chair beside my bed and paints. Sometimes I watch, sometimes I look out the window or try and sleep to escape my throbbing head. But when neither works I always find myself watching Peeta paint. It's comforting, in a way; it reminds me of the days when I was injured and couldn't move. He'd come up here and paint then too, but it was different. Back then he would sit with me on my bed so I could watch the page bloom with colour. Once or twice I found myself using his shoulder as a pillow to rest on.

One thing hasn't changed though, and that's his expression whilst painting; which in a way is comforting. I'd expect nowadays for there to be some gleam there, a sign of the demons still lurking within him, but I can't see them. It's just the same concentrated expression, so focused and serious. I remember before being fascinated with the length of his eyelashes, and from what I can see they're one of the few parts of him that made it through the war relatively unscathed.

I don't even notice that it's dark until he goes to switch the light on. He doesn't sit back down again, instead standing at the end of my bed, looking serious.

"You still not hungry?" he asks. I nod in response and a flash of worry crosses his expression. I just turn away and close my eyes.

His footsteps wake me up, and he enters the room with a bag swung over one arm, a bowl and a plate. The bag must contain my pills, and the plate must have his dinner but I can't work out what's in the bowl. It smells strange though.

He sits in his usual position, using my bedside table as a makeshift counter and eats whilst making small talk. He spoke to Doctor Aurelius and my medication should be here by the morning, and it will be delivered so he won't have to leave me. I roll my eyes but he either chooses to ignore it or doesn't notice. He talked to Haymitch about the book, and although quite drunk, he agreed to at least talk about it.

"Of course when you're better," he says, picking up the bowl and handing it to me.

"I'm not hungry."

"It's broth. Sae says it should help."

"Do you really trust Sae and her concoctions. And when did you even talk to her?"

"She called round this morning to make some food so I told her. She turned up with the broth a few hours later. It can't hurt to try it," he shrugs. I try to sit up so I can sip it but it proves to be too painful, so I slump back down again.

"Here," Peeta says. He props a pillow up so I can lift my head a little and takes the bowl. He scoops up some of the broth and holds it up to my lips. I take a sip and even though it does taste weird I gulp it down anyway. It must've been boiling when Peeta brought it up because it's still warm now. We wait for a few minutes and when I show no signs of retching, he continues to feed me.

"Just like old times eh?" he says.

I frown, "What do you mean?"

"Well you fed me some broth in the …cave," he pauses, confused, "real or not real?"

"Real," I say.

He shakes his head like something's bothering him and I can tell it's a fake memory trying to push its way through. I suppose memories from the games will always be tainted the most.

He finishes feeding me the broth and then goes downstairs to get me a glass of water. When he returns, he opens the bag of pills, and as far as I can tell there are way more than before.

"Where did all those come from?" I ask.

"Don't worry, more than half of them are mine," he says, getting out mine.

"Why'd you bring your pills over?"

He looks up, a bit surprised by my question, "Well I mean I need them if I'm-"

"Peeta, you know how I feel about-"

"I know Katniss. _Trust me_, I do. But you're ill and you need someone to be here in case you get worse," he says, sternly. I want to argue but I know he has a point. And it's not exactly like anyone else is offering to take care of me anyway.

"I know you hate other people looking after you," he says, "but just let me take care of you for a while, until you're better."

Some of his words take me back to that cave again. He said those last words there too. It seems memories are everywhere tonight.

I begrudgingly take my pills and then Peeta takes his. He was right; he has almost double to take compared to me. I can't even imagine what they're all for, and I don't think I want to know either.

"Okay, I'll go now," he says, packing up the plate and bowl, "I'll be downstairs if you need me."

"Downstairs?"

"Yeah, I found some blankets and stuff," he says, and before I can ask further he shuts the door behind him.

"Katniss?" a whisper fills the room and my eyes snap open. I look up and Peeta's standing right above me, causing me to jump slightly. An amused expression crosses his face, and he can't help but look pleased with himself, "Did I scare you?"

I'm tempted to reply with a sarcastic comment but I bite my tongue. He seems to be in a good mood but I'm not quite sure what would hurt him and what he'd take lightly. So I keep my mouth shut and resort to my usual scowl, hoping he gets the message.

He picks something up from the bedside table to I can see, "Your package came this morning."

I frown, "Wait, what's the time?"

"About 10," he shrugs, "I woke up early but you weren't screaming or anything so I thought you might not be having a nightmare. I didn't want to disturb you," he pauses, "Plus, you're supposed to be resting."

I roll my eyes, "Well I was having a nightmare. I always have nightmares."

His eyes immediately become concerned, even a little sad, "Why couldn't I hear you then?"

I don't say anything. I'd rather not discuss my nightmares with Peeta. Not now, not with this headache, not with him. Or anyone for that matter. Even Doctor Aurelius thinks they've eased up slightly, when they've actually gotten worse.

When I don't reply, Peeta opens the box, "Let's see what we've got here."

There are a few different sets of pills in the box, and a strip that's supposed to go across my head to help with the fever. I refuse the new pills and take my normal amount, but I let Peeta figure out the strip. He goes to put it on my head but I snatch it out of his hand before he can get too close. Compared to the pills it gives me an instant relief and I don't feel like an oven for the first time in hours.

"That isn't going to make you feel better permanently you know," he shakes the pills, "These will."

My muscles are still aching everywhere, but the strip makes me feel okay enough to launch a pillow in his direction. I don't look to see how accurate it is, but it has the effect I intended it to. He puts the pillow back in position, grumbling slightly but saying nothing more about pills.

The rest of the day is quiet. I lay in bed, refusing Peeta's attempts to give me pills and spotting when he tries to slip them to me.

"You're not being exactly subtle you know," I comment when I find a pill hiding in a mug of hot chocolate that I almost swallowed, "Anyway, trying to slip me pills is a bit much isn't it?"

"They'll help you get better Katniss," he says for about the hundredth time today, "Besides it gives me something to do other than watch you stare out of the window."

"Why don't you paint?"

"I've done everything in the book now. And it's probably best I don't start the next one until you're better." It takes me a second but then I realise what he means. Drawing plants and writing a few notes from observations about colour and texture is nothing like drawing people we knew; or writing about the way they laughed or the way they looked when they were scared. Emotions come into play and that's never a good thing. Even worse with a pounding head and aching muscles.

I don't feel like eating anything at lunch or in the afternoon but Peeta makes me have some more broth and some bread he baked that morning.

"You need something in your system to give you energy," he says, spoon feeding me for the second night in a row.

"What if I throw up?"

"I think you'll be okay, a bit of soggy bread shouldn't upset your stomach too much. Plus you're already showing signs of improvement," he smiles a little.

"I am?"

"Does your voice hurt anymore when you talk?" he asks. I think back and I realise I've been talking quite a bit today and I barely even thought about it.

"How'd that happen?"

"I found some plants near the house that your mother recommended for sore throats in her book. I guess you didn't notice them in the broth last night after all," he grins and I can't help but smile a little too. After all it _has_ helped me, "Guess I can be subtle when I want to."

The same routine as the night before goes. We struggle with the pills but he refuses to leave until I've taken all of them, and in the end I'm tired enough to give in. He looks all too pleased with himself by the end and it's taking all of me not to throw the pillow at him again. But a small part of me is thankful. He's been in a good mood for the last two days which is a good thing. It means at least someone is getting better, if only a little bit. I guess in the grand scheme of things two days of being upbeat isn't exactly huge progress.

"Are you sleeping downstairs again?" I say. I try and sound as neutral as possible but it's difficult.

"Yeah, why?" he says, gathering up the plates and putting the pills into the box.

"Isn't the couch…. uncomfortable?"

"I've slept on worse," he shrugs, and walks out before I can offer him perhaps one of the rooms up here if he wants. His last words bother me for some reason and I can't seem to shake them off. I think he's talking about the arenas at first, when he had to sleep on the ground. But something tells me he was talking about his time in the Capitol. I try not to think about it, and push the thought away, but it keeps coming back and eating away at me. And tonight, instead of mutts, dying children's faces or complete emptiness, just a single image haunts me. Peeta, on a hard, cold cell floor, lying in a pool of his own blood.

A week passes by and I slowly start to recover. As much as I hate to admit it, the pills from Dr Aurelius really did help. My head doesn't pound unless I move too quickly and I can start to get up and move around without my muscles protesting too much.

"I invited Haymitch round today," Peeta says. We're in my kitchen, and I'm watching him bake as there's not much else for either of us to do. Even though I can move around now I still get tired easily and it's better if I just sit down. He notices my confused expression at his last statement, "Remember he's going to help us with the book?"

"Oh yeah," I say, "Wasn't he drunk when he agreed to that?"

"No worse than his usual," Peeta shrugs, "Besides we're only really discussing the idea today."

I nod and go to lie down on the couch before he comes over. I'm still far more tired than usual and I've been napping in the middle of the day a lot more lately. What's odd though, is the fact that since I've been sick, Peeta's not had a bad day. Which is slightly worrying. I even asked Doctor Aurelius about it when he rang up yesterday but he said he had no idea, although it was strangely unusual. He asked how much time he'd been spending with me and when I answered him truthfully, he made some comment about my influence. I hung up on him.

There's one loud knock at the door which brings me back to the couch, and I hear Peeta go to the door.

"Where is she?" I hear him say. Peeta leads him through, and I try to sit up without getting dizzy. It doesn't work out too well.

"You don't look so good sweetheart," Haymitch says, collapsing into the chair near the fire.

"I could say the same about you." He's thinner than before, his skin sallow and his hair matted. I dread to think about when he last had a shower.

"Some things don't change eh."

We sit in silence and I pull a blanket from behind my head and wrap it around myself. He gives me a funny look, and is about to say something but Peeta walks in.

"Good to see someone's in a decent mood," Haymitch says, directed towards Peeta's pleasant expression. I bite my tongue before I say something I regret. Peeta agreed he'd do most of the talking today anyway.

"So what's this book idea boy?" Peeta explains about the plant book and how we used to work on it, and his idea for one but with people. He even shows Haymitch some of the plant book so he can get an idea. I spend my time observing Haymitch's behaviour and he seems more sober than usual, which I suppose is a good thing. It depends on which way you look at it.

"So what's this gotta do with me?"

"Well you knew some people much better than me or Katniss. We wanted to put people from the Quell in at some point and you knew them better than us. We were hoping you could help us fill in some of the blanks."

Haymitch contemplates it for a moment and then stands up, "Catch me when I've had enough to drink and maybe," he heads to the door. Peeta goes to follow him but he puts his hand up, "Katniss can see me out, thanks Peeta."

Peeta shoots me a look that says, 'You don't have to. I can take care of it'. But I heave myself to my feet anyway and slowly follow Haymitch to the front door. He opens the door and I get my first blast of fresh air in over a week. It's not as refreshing as I thought it would be, sticky more than anything. How did summer creep up so quickly?

"I don't know what you've been sneaking into that boy's food," he grumbles so Peeta can't hear, "But you need to stop."

"What are you talking about?" I say, perplexed.

"Katniss, he's been upbeat since you got sick. That's not possible."

"What are you trying to say?"

"Well if you aren't doing it, then he must be taking something to make him that way. Nobody, hijacked or not, can be in that mood for a whole week," he says. I hate to admit it, but he's right.

"Maybe it's because he's been in my company more," I say, doing my best imitation of Doctor Aurelius. Haymitch scoffs.

"No offence sweetheart, but you're not exactly pleasant company."

"Once again, I could say the same about you," I reply. Haymitch doesn't say anything for a minute, just looks at me strangely.

"Sort him out before he does anything stupid, okay?" he says, and without even saying goodbye he turns and walks away. I close the door, thinking his words through. Only a clatter from the kitchen brings me out of my reverie. I follow the sound to find Peeta picking up a bowl surrounded by flour. He sees me coming in and looks guilty.

"I'll clean it up in a minute, I promise. I just forgot it was there for a second-"

"Peeta are you taking any pills you shouldn't?" This stops him immediately. He looks shocked more than anything.

"What do you mean?" he splutters, grabbing a brush to clean the flour.

"Leave it, Peeta," I say, "And answer me." But he doesn't say anything. His silence answers for him.

"Peeta-"

"I just thought that if I was going to be looking after you I couldn't do that if I was lying on the floor screaming," He says, "Or trying to hurt you."

It's my turn to be silent. I don't drop his gaze and he doesn't either. After a minute of this I decide I need to say something, even if it's not what I really want to.

"Where did you even get it from? What is it?"

"Some people in town get it in from The Capitol," he says, "I don't know how so don't ask. But it doesn't matter now, I'll stop."

"How do I know that for sure? You shouldn't rely on a drug to make you feel okay Peeta," I say, "You're better than that."

He's quiet for a moment, a thoughtful kind of quiet. It's difficult to see what's running through his mind right now. That's what's so frustrating about Peeta; sometimes I can read him like a book and sometimes he's so closed up, who knows what's going on inside his head.

"Thanks, Katniss," he finally says. I nod.

"Now where are they?" I swallow. He finds his bag with all the pills in them and unzips a pocket on the inside I'd never seen before. He pulls out a bag that's still about half full and gives them to me. Without looking at him I take the bag and head to the sink, pouring the contents down the drain. Peeta comes over, a frown on his face.

"I'm not sure those were small enough to do that Katniss. You could've blocked your pipes up."

"Well," I say, "It's a bit late now isn't it?" I crack a smile, and so does Peeta. He lets out a noise that's halfway between a laugh and a sigh and shakes his head at me.

"You must be feeling better," he says. I raise my eyebrows at him.

"Why'd you say that?"

"Because if you were still sick you'd be scowling right now," he smirks. I can't help it; my eyes immediately narrow, "See that's more like it."

I'm about to reply, but then a yawn takes over me and I'm suddenly overwhelmed with exhaustion for no good reason.

"C'mon," Peeta gestures to the living room, "You go lie down and I'll clear up the mess."

I go to the couch and wrap myself up in the blanket from earlier. It's the one Peeta uses whilst he's been sleeping down here and I find it strangely comforting. He brings me in a glass of water just as I'm starting to drift off.

"You didn't have to do that," I say.

"Well, have it. Just in case you want it," he pauses, "So do you think you'll be okay from now on?"

I look up at him, frowning, "You know, at night."

I'm conflicted, but wrapped up in the blanket that belongs to him I say, "Stay a couple more nights. Just in case."

* * *

**A/N - Once _AGAIN_ I feel super awful about the long gap in between updates. Summer has been more crazy than I anticipated and I'm probably the queen of procrastination, and those two factors don't bode too well for writing. But I also felt bad cuz of the cliffhanger I left you guys on, but thank you all for being so patient! Anyway this has officially been my longest chapter, which I'm pretty proud of! Anyway I hope you guys enjoyed and now I'm back at school I plan on making a schedule that fits in at least half an hour of writing per night. We'll see how it goes. Feedback is always wonderfully appreciated though, even if I don't reply I read appreciate every review I get! **


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N - Hey guys! Yeah so that writing schedule?... didn't really work out. I checked and it's been 8 months since I last updated, and I did mean to but ... life got in the way! And I've been writing this in drabbles over that time, and today I just powered through and finished! I honestly can't guarantee an update but I will try. I'd forgotten how much I enjoyed writing this story and writing in general. Don't expect one for a few weeks because I have exams soon but I will definitely try afterward. I'm not even sure if anyone is still interested in this, but if you are... enjoy, and please give feeback! - L **

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"Peeta, it's been two weeks since I was sick; I'm perfectly capable of leaving the house now," I look out the kitchen window into the early summer day. Everything's turned green and is starting to become sticky; which seems amplified being stuck in the house with practically nothing to do, "I'm _bored_."

Peeta doesn't reply and just smirks as he stirs the broth he's making for lunch. He's been spending most of his days round here, still worried I'm going to suddenly turn ill again and collapse.

"I could get much better meat than Sae brings over you know."

"I don't doubt that Katniss," he says, "But there are still viruses going around town and you probably shouldn't go out until you've had your shot."

I wrinkle my nose and turn away. Peeta insisted as soon as I was better that I take a shot so as not to get ill again, and within a day Dr Aurelius confirmed we'd be sent one on the next shipment out.

"I don't even want to go near the town," I whine and Peeta rolls his eyes at my immature behaviour. I know he's trying to help but it's frustrating. I don't need a babysitter, much less one that I'm taking care of half the time.

"It's just precautionary. And it should arrive tomorrow morning anyway so you haven't got much longer to wait."

I pause, contemplating, "Who's going to do it?" I say. Peeta turns to me looking confused, "You know… inject it."

His brow creases; he obviously hadn't thought that far along, which is surprising for Peeta, "I guess I hadn't really thought about it yet. I'll ask Sae."

"So Sae knows how to administer injections now does she?"

"Do you have a better suggestion?" he asks. He has stopped me on this one though. At the end of the day the only person in District Twelve I'd be okay with applying it is in the same room as me; but the mere sight of needles causes him to have a seizure so it's out of the question. In fact, Peeta probably won't even come round until I've made sure anything to do with it has been disposed of.

"There's a healer in town," he pipes up after a while, "I could ask him to do it."

I wrinkle my nose at the idea of a stranger walking into my house and plunging a needle into me. Whilst I don't have seizures I still don't have good memories associated with needles, not many better with healers.

Before I can answer him, however, there's a knock at the door that can only be the mailman. I get up and move towards the door; although there's usually no sign of him and only the pile of letters on my doorstep by the time I get there, it's never certain he's still lingering and the sight of Peeta picking up my mail from my house would only cause unnecessary attention. After I'd recovered from the flu, I'd opened my door to find a huge pile of letters outside my front door; at least Peeta and I were on the same page.

Most of it is letters from Dr Aurelius or the Capitol that I never even open. Today though, a handwritten letter sits atop the pile in the handwriting I vaguely recognise as belonging to Annie. I bring them back through to the kitchen and throw the rest of the letters in the trash. Peeta notices the Annie's one left in my hand as I sit at the counter.

"What's that?"

"A letter from Annie," I respond, prising open the envelope. Just as last time, a letter and a picture fall out onto the counter. I pick up the letter first.

It appears from her letter she's sent another scan of the baby, and says everything's going okay. I briefly pause my reading, trying to figure out the math.

"Peeta, how far along is Annie?" He frowns in concentration and there's something in his eyes that immediately tells me I was wrong to ask, "Peeta, look at me."

I manage to bring him out of the reverie he was slowly sinking into. He does this at least once a day, now he's off whatever he was taking before, and some days come with seizures or flashbacks as well. I know how to handle him losing himself in his memory; I have yet to be able to manage his flashbacks.

"Sorry," he croaks, and he turns back to the food, "I'm guessing she's almost due? Why?"

I shake my head and continue reading. It seems my question to Peeta was totally unnecessary; Annie answers my question later on in the letter. He's due July 10th. Just over a month away.

She goes on to invite myself up to visit when he's born. There's a part of me that wants to; Annie shouldn't be alone with her son when he's born. But at the same time my mother is there, and along with my restriction to District 12, the option of going to District 4 is out of the question.

I pick up the picture lying on the counter and try to decipher it again. This one's no better to decipher than the other one and I call Peeta over to help me.

He lays it on the counter and stares for a moment, "Look," he says, tracing outlines around the picture until the form of a baby starts to take shape. The difference being this time it actually looks like a baby.

"He looks like Finnick," I say softly, and it's true; it's already evident from the shape of his nose and head. I can't decide whether this is a good thing for Annie or not.

Peeta nods and I'm suddenly aware of the silence hanging in the room and the close proximity of our bodies. I don't even realise I'm staring until Peeta looks up from the table to catch my eye, his stare intense but not threatening. Before I let myself get caught up in the scars on his forehead or the clearness of his eyes, I look back down at the counter and wave the letter at him.

"Annie wanted us to come see him when he's born," I say, clearing my throat, "I can't go of course, but she invited you."

Peeta frowns, "Why can't you go?"

"I'm forbidden to leave the District," I remind him, sliding down from the counter, "I'm a danger to the general public remember?"

"Because you killed Coin?" I can see he's not grasping the situation well; his memories of what happened must be hazy. Which is odd, considering he was recovering, of a sort, by the time I assassinated the wrong president.

I nod, and he looks thoughtful, "How long is the ban?"

I shrug, "I don't have a time frame. It could be for the rest of my life for all I know."

He wrinkles his nose "What about the population of District 12?"

"I guess Dr Aurelius didn't exactly think everything through."

There's a twinkle in his eye, and I know before he even opens his mouth I'm going to scowl at his remark, "Seems a little unfair on us, doesn't it?"

My arm is still sore by the time Peeta walks through my backdoor the next day. I mumble a greeting as I stretch out on the sofa.

"I'm surprised you're still here," he says, "thought you'd be out in the woods by now."

"Nobody thought to warn me that the injection causes 'discomfort' into the place it's injected," I say. Peeta winces at the word injection and quickly surveys it's surrounding, "I got rid of it all, don't worry."

His face eases, "You could still go outside."

"And do what?"

He shrugs, "Go for a walk?" I wrinkle my nose, "You could go to the meadow… and I could come with you."

Peeta's suggestion takes me by surprise. Not the actual suggestion I suppose, merely how casual it was. Whilst he's comes to my house most days, a routine that's stuck since my illness, and apart to go into town, we haven't really been anywhere outside together.

I bite my lip contemplating. In the end, the need for fresh air and my woods wins out over any doubts swirling amongst my thoughts, and I get up.

"C'mon then," I say.

Ten minutes later we walk down my front steps toward the meadow. The air isn't as refreshing as I'd hoped; summer has definitely set in and the air is warm, almost humid. The fence that separates the District from the woods is still erect, although Peeta informs me that there are plans to rebuild it and put gates in so we can pass more easily to and from the woods. I'm not sure how I feel about the woods becoming accessible to District 12. It's always been a place I thought of as mine and Gale's – it may only be mine now but there's a selfish part of me that wants to keep it that way.

As we approach the meadow, I worry it will be inundated with others from District Twelve; but it is completely deserted. Peeta and I sit near the barbed wire fence in silence for a while, and even though the air is sticky, it feels wonderful to be outside again, despite the pain in my arm. The blossom since I was last out has erupted into blooming greens, the grass is as tall as my thighs, and dotted around the meadow are patches of dandelions. I find myself lying back and listening to the sound of the crickets dancing, the birds singing and the distant sound of District Twelve coming back to life. I look over and Peeta has taken up the same position as myself, except his eyes are closed and a small smile plays at his lips. He looks almost at peace, an expression I don't think I've ever seen on him. Worry, anger, steady, calculating, yes, but our circumstances seem to have snatched from the both of us a peaceful moment in the time we've known each other.

I find my own eyes closing, but it is difficult to be at peace. Particularly with the woods just beyond the fence, the woods that makes me feel safe and alive, but also the woods that holds the memories of those I lost – my father, but far more raw, Gale. I push him out of my mind, before the image of burning flames and my sister that always follows can push through. _My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am eighteen years old. I live in District Twelve, as does Peeta. I was the mockingjay. The Hunger Games are over._

I have difficulty conjuring up facts that do not carry painful memories with them, and instead recall the lyrics of an old mountain song we used to sing at school. The words are simple but sweet, and I find myself beginning to finally relax.

"Katniss?" Peeta's voice breaks through the darkness beneath my eyes, and I blink in the bright sunlight, "Are you singing?"

I turn to face him, confused, "I was?" He nods, the traces of his smile from earlier still present on his lips, "Huh. I was thinking the words. I didn't realise I was singing them." Almost to confirm Peeta's statement, I hear the same tune softly from behind me. I sit up, trying to see where it's coming from.

"What is it?" Peeta says, looking in the same direction as me.

"Listen," I say. I watch him as he tries to hear what I am hearing. I can tell the exact moment he does, because his face mirrors my thoughts.

"A Mockingjay," he whispers. He's concentrating now, although I'm not sure whether it's to the tune being sung or if it's something else entirely, "They escaped the fire."

I nod, realising this must be a shock to him. Nobody really ever talked to Peeta about the fire that killed most of District Twelve's population, including his entire family. He was too hostile and unstable and there were other matters to discuss once he'd recovered.

"A lot of the wildlife did," I reply, "The woods seemed to escape the fire, like the Village. The seam was badly hit, but the town got the worst of it." I watch him in case he reacts badly, but he is silent. A few minutes later, he just whispers, "Thank you."

It had never occurred to me to ask how Peeta was coping with the loss of his family. He had never seemed particularly close to any of them; after the first games, it felt like he spent more time with my family than his own. I knew for a fact his relationship with his mother was not a good one, and with his brothers it had always been unclear. The only person I knew he was close to, whom I had ever spoken more than a few words to was, was his father.

"Peeta," I pause, deciding against what I was about to say, "Don't be afraid to ask. Okay?"

He nods a smile of thanks. Then he gets up, making his way over to the fence, looking to the trees and mountains beyond. I get up and stand beside him, although I'm not sure what he's looking at.

"You know, I've lived here most of my life and I've never gone beyond this point," he says, almost confused at how this fact is true. I can see the hard edge return to his eyes, and take his hand without a second thought, squeezing it; bringing him back to the meadow from whatever dark place in his mind he was headed.

"Most people who live here haven't," I reassure him, "It was only me and… a few others who even dared." He is silent, probably trying to decipher what I mean by 'a few others'.

"Can I come? Out in the woods with you one day?" his question is so surprising that my grip on his hand loosens, almost falling away. The selfish part of me screams no, that it is my private place. But another voice reminds me that I shared it with my father, and then Gale, that after all he's been through, Peeta deserves to see the woods he was never brave enough to enter as a child.

I take his hand tightly again, "Okay," I say, "Maybe not hunting though. Nothing would come anywhere near enough for me to shoot."

I'm worried Peeta will take this the wrong way, but instead he grins and nods, "That sounds like a good idea."

I give his hand one last squeeze before letting go and turning back to my original position. I am about to sit back down when I hear a yelp of pain from behind me and instinct takes over.

I turn back around and Peeta's left hand is suddenly stained a dark red. I run over to him, and see he has cut himself badly; who knows what he did, but it is obviously from the barbed wire fence. I look around us for a type of bandage to restrict the flow until we can get help, but we brought nothing with us.

"Peeta, take off your shirt," I demand. His pupils are dilating, his body shaking, but there is a remnant of sense in him still left.

"What?!"

"I need to restrict the flow and we have nothing with us," I explain. He doesn't make a move to do anything but he doesn't resist as I pull the shirt over his head and wrap it around the wound. Then I look back at him – he's completely gone now, having a seizure. I try and block out the instinct to run away from him and instead wrap my hands around his wrists.

"Peeta, look at me," I say, "We're in District Twelve. In the meadow by the fence, outside. You're completely safe, I promise," it's useless. He's gone, shouting incoherent things and his whole body is shaking. I try and think what will work, and am taken back to the evening of our first interaction back in District Twelve; I start to sing.

It's the same simple tune from earlier, a song we were taught years ago at school. My father used to sing it to me every night before I went to bed when I was six. I doubt Peeta's house was filled with much song, and maybe that's why it has such a significant impact on him. My right hand is straining, trying to press his shirt against the wound and hold his wrists still, but he's weakening. I keep singing the song, each time his pupils growing smaller, his shaking weakening. It's not until the end of the eighth repetition that his eyes clear and the Peeta I know is back with me.

Before he has time to fully clear his head, I lead him forward through the meadow. We are almost at the edge, near town, when he asks, "Katniss, what's going on?!" he sounds distressed.

"You cut your hand, I need to get you to the healer," I'm not sure where the healer in town is, but we head there anyway. There aren't too many people, but enough to notice us and what's going on. Thankfully, the people of District Twelve don't tend to ask too many questions.

I ask someone I vaguely recognise from the Seam where the healer is and she points me to a temporary building in the square. It is constructed of wood, with holes in the wood but it'll do. I bang on the door, only stopping when it's opened. The healer is clearly not from District Twelve – from his leathery tan skin I would hazard a guess at perhaps District 10, although I'm not quite sure how they came to be a healer if this is true. He takes one look at the shirt I'm still pressing on Peeta's hand, almost soaked through red and leads us in.

"What happened?"

"I'm not sure; I think he cut himself on the wire fence in the meadow."

"Can he not answer himself?" I scowl. For a healer, he isn't very observant. Peeta is pale and still sweaty from his seizure, his eyes still not clear.

"He had a seizure afterward. Can you just put a damn bandage on it please?" The healer doesn't retaliate, but examines Peeta's hand. I look away and focus on the patter of the wood on the opposite wall. Even after all I've seen, it seems I'm not totally immune to blood and injuries.

"It's fairly deep. He'll need stitches," Peeta is aware enough to hear this and looks slightly panicked. I know what he's thinking; stitches require needles. The Healer goes to a cupboard to get out equipment he needs. I sit beside Peeta, who seems to be using me as a point to fix his attention on so he doesn't have to see what's happening.

Throughout the whole process, Peeta doesn't take his stare away from me. I look anywhere but his hand. He flinches at something and grabs my hand, using me as something to anchor to.

After an indefinite period of time, the Healer announces he's finished. We both look and his hand is now wrapped in white gauze. He has seven stitches in total, and is told to come back in a week to have them removed. The bandage is just precautionary, so no infection can get in. The Healer also discreetly hands Peeta a spare shirt he gets from a drawer, and it is only now I realise Peeta isn't wearing one. I suppose I had seen the sigh enough for it not to affect me, especially given the situation. However I can tell the Healer, and probably most of District Twelve, would not be as unfazed by the sight of the patchwork that makes up Peeta's torso and back.

His eyes are relatively clear by this point, so he thanks the Healer and we leave. We don't speak until we're out of town and on the path to the Victor's Village.

"I'm sorry," Peeta says.

"What happened?"

"I thought I saw something beyond the fence – I don't know a deer or a bear or something. I tried to get a closer look and put my hand on the fence without thinking."

I am silent for a couple of beats. Then, "Don't do it again. You scared me."

I had not realised our hands were still clasped until I feel him squeeze mine which tells me he understands what I'm trying to say, "Still. Thank you."

I squeeze his hand in reply to say 'it's okay'. We continue on down the path in silence, his good hand in mine, a cool summer breeze having finally arrived, and the sound of a single mockingjay in the distance singing.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N Hey guys! Told you I'd update! Most of my exams are over now so I finally got round to finishing this chapter and should have more time to write overall, so yay! I'll admit I didn't finish writing this long ago and have quickly had a read through but there may still be the odd mistake in there in which case I'll fix tomorrow but I really wanted it up ASAP as it'd been a while. Enjoy and please feedback, it's very much appreciated! - L xo**

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It takes Peeta's hand almost two weeks to completely heal, so our start of the memory book is delayed. I'm not sure I mind particularly – I need to prepare myself not only for the old faces to plague my thoughts and dreams once we start, but also to cope with spending extensive periods of time in Haymitch's company.

"Should we start on the book tomorrow?" Peeta asks. He's making dinner, some concoction of plants and herbs he gathered near the meadow and the squirrel I shot today. Summer has come down on District Twelve and even in the evening, it is far too humid for hot food.

"Are you sure?" I ask.

"Well my hand's much better," he replies, "And we might as well start as soon as possible. Whilst everything's still fresh."

I nod and head to the porch. Peeta and I have slowly built up a routine. In the morning I hunt, and he bakes back at his house. I usually arrive back about mid-afternoon and he comes over shortly after. He paints, or tells me any news from the town and I quietly watch or listen. He makes the both of us dinner, and since the warm weather has set in, we've come to eating it out on the porch. We don't have to worry about anyone seeing else here; the Victor's Village is still deserted, apart from ourselves and Haymitch. We'll then sit out and talk some more or go inside for a bit. Peeta usually goes before the sun is down, so he's safely back home before dark.

"I suppose you're right," I shrug as he hands me a plate. We head out on the porch and watch the sunset as we eat. The sky blazes a brilliant orange and I am reminded of a conversation between us, which feels like so long ago now.

Almost as if reading my mind, Peeta says, "I told you my favourite colour was orange, like sunset, on the Victory Tour. Real or not Real?"

"Real," I reply. His questions like these tend to come more sporadically and he's almost always right nowadays. I think he just asks for reassurance most of the time.

He continues with smaller talk. The Capitol is thinking about holding some kind of ceremony on what would be Reaping Day. I wrinkle my nose.

"What sort of ceremony?"

"I'm not sure really, I just saw it on the news quickly earlier. Supposed to celebrate its abolishment or something," he pauses. "So many of the districts are just getting back on their feet and lot of people are still mourning and trying to rebuild. I guess a little celebration would lift people's spirits."

I see where Peeta and President Paylor are coming from. It's true – but I think about that particular date in July and I want to run back upstairs and hide underneath my covers.

"If you think about it," Peeta says, "That'll be the second anniversary of when we officially met." I crack a smile. That's one way of looking at it.

"Officially met," I say, "When did we unofficially meet then?"

He smirks, "Oh you know, passing in the school corridors. Handing out equipment in class."

I smile, thinking of the various times throughout our childhood when Peeta and I crossed paths, even before he threw the bread for me. I barely even noticed his existence before my father's death; it's funny how losing one of the most important people in my life came to me meeting another.

We finish eating and only talk for a few minutes before Peeta decides to go back to his house – we ate later than normal today and dusk is approaching. I wave him goodnight and watch as he crosses over back to his house, only turning around when I make sure he's safely back inside.

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I only hunt for a couple of hours the next day, and by the time I get back to my house Peeta and Haymitch are already in the kitchen making lunch. Well, Peeta is; Haymitch is idly sitting at the counter looking fairly serious. As I come in through the back door they immediately look up and stop whatever conversation they were having. Peeta smiles and says hi but I just scowl between them.

"What were you two discussing that was so secret I couldn't know?"

"Nothing of importance sweetheart," Haymitch says, throwing me a sarcastic smile. I make a sound of indignation and head over to Peeta, who's smiling to himself.

"I got two rabbits," I say, putting them down next to him. He nods taking the bag and begins preparing them. Over the past few weeks he's managed to get over the skinning thing and mostly does it himself now. However, because I'm making a pointed attempt to ignore Haymitch, I end up helping him.

"You two seem to have a cosy arrangement," I hear behind me. It takes everything within me not to throw a knife in his general direction, not to hit him just to make a point, but Peeta gives me a look and gently takes the knife out of my hands.

"Eating dinner together sometimes isn't exactly an arrangement," I say through gritted teeth. I can tell Peeta's looking at me with confusion now, but I tell myself I'll deal with it later.

"Every night isn't sometimes sweetheart," Haymitch says. And then quietly, almost as if he wasn't supposed to say it out loud, "It's not as if it's a bad thing." I'm not sure what he means but I decide it's not worth discussing.

Lunch is relatively quiet. Peeta is normally the main source of conversation but he doesn't seem to feel like making small talk today. He's seemed a bit off all day. As we wash the dishes and Haymitch makes his way into the other room, I ask, "Peeta are you sure you want to do this today? We can do it any other day, when you're feeling better-"

"It's fine, Katniss!" he says, and I see a flash of the angry Peeta from District 13. It takes everything within me not to run out of the room but I stand my ground and look him straight in the eye, rubbing soothing circles into the palm of his hand. He soon relaxes and shakes his head, "Sorry. I want to do it but I'm not so good today."

"I know," I say. "And that's okay. You just paint today and Haymitch and I will do all the remembering."

He nods, to say _thank you_, and we finish with the plates. I head into the other room whilst he goes upstairs to get his equipment. I sit on the window ledge and look out at the Village in an attempt to ignore Haymitch's grumbling.

"What're you doing up there?" Peeta says when he comes back down.

"I was hot," I reply which he accepts. It's gotten to the point where we're both wearing shorts, which wasn't something I was readily prepared to do. The past week or so has been sweltering though, and in the end I caved. After all, Peeta's the only person who sees me during the day, and he has as many if not more scars covering his legs than I do.

Working on the book today doesn't seem to be too strenuous a task today, for myself at least. Peeta decides it's best to start off with people we were more detached from so as to ease us into it, which soon turns into Haymitch reciting the features of the various tributes he mentored over the 23 years before we came along. Peeta sketches wordlessly and I keep mostly out of it. Occasionally, when we get to the later tributes than Peeta and I were alive to watch I chip in the odd detail or two but otherwise I am silent. I'm fairly sure Peeta notices but he doesn't say anything, not with Haymitch around. We decide to call it a day around 7, even though Peeta's only made rough sketches of about half the tributes from the years and details of most. Peeta goes to make us dinner, which Haymitch has apparently invited himself to join us for. I wonder over and look at the names jotted down on a page in the book. 46 names in total. All dead. And that's just from District 12 between the years Haymitch and Peeta and I won. I try and breathe. Play the game. _My name is Katniss Everdeen…_

"Katniss?" Peeta's voice brings me out of my reverie but it's still difficult to concentrate. "Hey, look at me. Katniss!"

I lift my head up and use his eyes as a point to anchor myself to. It takes a few minutes but my breathing slows down and my hands stop shaking. I still feel lightheaded and find myself leaning against Peeta with his arms around me to keep me upright. I lean my head against his shoulder and breathe him in. He smells of paint, cinnamon and that something else that is entirely his own. I'm not sure how we stand like this but Peeta says something about having to get back to dinner and Haymitch in the kitchen and I pull away, still a bit unsteady. He leads me over to the couch and gets me to lie down and heads back to the kitchen. I close my eyes but he's back a few minutes later with a mug.

I frown. "What is it?"

"Tea. Milk and two sugars. Just how you like it."

I pull a face. "Peeta it's hot outside."

"You need sugar, Katniss." He says, and goes back to the kitchen, leaving it on the side. I resist at first to make a point, but in the end I'd rather feel steady than lightheaded and take some sips, hoping Peeta doesn't notice.

He and Haymitch come into the living room with dinner and sit talking. Peeta hands me a bowl but I don't really eat at first, just pick at the leaves. He doesn't say anything but I know I should eat, so I try and make more of an effort. I end up finishing about half of the meal before lying back down again.

Haymitch goes home shortly afterward, surprisingly without a snide comment. I hear Peeta clearing up in the kitchen before coming back into the room. I sit up so he can sit beside me. He has an envelope in his hand that I can only assume is from Annie, due to the handwriting on the front. It must be a reply from the letter Peeta sent after his accident.

"This came today. I thought we should open it together but then Haymitch came and stayed longer than I thought."

I nod as he opens the letter and read it over his shoulder. She doesn't say too much, only that she's so far along now it's getting uncomfortable, particularly in the heat. I'm not sure exactly what Peeta said in his letter but she says she may come for a visit down to District 12 after the baby's born and she's feeling better. She says she'd like to see us and maybe the woods as well, seeing as they don't have the same kind back in District 4. Peeta decides to start a letter of reply now, so I lie back down on the couch and close my eyes. I fall asleep quickly, comforted by the sound of the pen on paper and the knowledge that he's nearby.

* * *

Mutts. Everywhere. I try and run but everywhere I go I'm face with another one and have to look into the eyes of someone I love. I'm screaming but there's nobody to listen, and so I curl up in a ball and wait for them to stop, but they keep coming closer and closer I'm forced to look at them. Finnick's sea green eyes. Rue's, dark and innocent. Cinna's, kind and gentle. Prim's, so blue and brave. I curl tighter and wait for it to end, although I know it won't end and I can hear my screams mingling with those that belong to the eyes looming over me.

And then I'm looking into a different but all too familiar of blue eyes. I'm thrashing and screaming and I don't know where I am. Is he dead too? He can't be. Not him.

But then my sense kick in and I realise what I can hear, where I am. I'm on the couch in my living room. Peeta's trying to calm me down, hushing me and whispering things he used to on the train when I had nightmares.

"Katniss? Shh you're okay. You're in your living room with me. You're safe, I promise." I don't even think before throwing my arms around him, pressing myself to him. He's hesitant but wraps his arms around me, rubbing soothing circles into my back. I run my hands through his hair for reassurance, my hands wrapped around his neck. I don't even realise I'm sobbing until I taste the salt and my cheek is met with his damp shirt.

"I'm getting your shirt wet!" I say between gasps and sobs and he just chuckles.

"It's a shirt, Katniss. It can be washed."

I just nod, still gasping for air. Peeta's arms tighten around me and I bury my head in the crook of his shoulder where it fits almost perfectly. I'm not sure how long it takes but my breathing slows and my tears eventually stop running. I pull away and wipe my eyes. Peeta tucks my hair that's fallen out of my braid from the thrashing behind my ear and strokes my cheek. I don't mind really – it's comforting if anything.

We're silent for a few minutes before Peeta asks, "Are you going to be okay tonight?"

"I think so," I say. Peeta takes my hand gives it a squeeze. He then goes to get up and pull away but I keep a hold of his hand. I don't want him to go. I don't want to face the rest of the night alone in this big house.

"Katniss?" He asks puzzled.

"Don't…" I try to say but it doesn't sound right. I take a deep breath, "Stay. Please."

His eyes soften but I can see confusion lurking beneath. I try to convey how I'm feeling with my eyes in the hope it gets through. He sits back down beside me, his hand still in mine. I have no idea what he's going to say; for a moment he's closed himself off from me behind those walls that I still have difficulty seeing through. But it's only for a moment. His composure breaks, his eyes soften again and a smile plays at his lips.

"Always," he says it so quietly I can barely hear it but I do all the same. I give his hand a squeeze and get up, pulling him with me. We head up to my room and I open the window in the hope of a breeze. Peeta climbs in hesitantly after me and we lie apart from each other slightly, although Peeta still has one arm wrapped around me. I can tell he's unsure of the situation and but he soon relaxes beside me. I'm not sure how or when but I eventually drift off to the sound of crickets outside and Peeta's quiet but steady breathing beside me in the darkness.

* * *

This time, I do not wake up to the sound of myself thrashing or screaming. I'm sure I must've had other nightmares, but none so bad that I woke up. Instead, I find at some point during the night, I've resumed the position I used to take up when Peeta and I shared a bed – my head over his heart, our hands clasped over his torso and his other arm holding me close. I tilt my head up and can see he's still sleeping, his mouth slightly open. His expression worries me though, it looks almost pained. I decide he's probably having a nightmare and even if he isn't, the sun is coming up and he always rises early. I shake him awake and say his name in a quiet sing-song voice. His eyes flutter open and he has a moment of confusion, figuring out where he is before remembering last night.

"Were you having a nightmare?" I ask.

"Yeah, thank you for waking me. That one was particularly…well."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He shakes his head. I move myself so I'm positioned facing him directly instead of having to tilt my head. He absent-mindedly starts to play with my hair but I don't mind. I know this is something that soothes him, and especially after a nightmare it can only help.

"What happened last night then?" He asks, looking from my hair to my eyes.

It takes me a minute or so to gather my answer. "I don't know really. My nightmare was… awful. The mutts were everywhere, with the eyes, and I saw Prim's eyes and then I woke up and saw yours and… for a moment I thought you were one of them too." I pause, "And that you had died."

I wait for a response but I don't get one. So I add, "I didn't want to be alone. I wanted to make sure you were safe."

"Katniss we're in District 12. Probably the safest place there is," he jokes, but I can tell he understands the magnitude of what I've admitted. He still plays with my hair.

"I know but… just in case." Silence for a moment, "I'm sorry about yesterday."

He frowns, "What do you mean?"

"You were having a bad day and I just made things worse, I should've been more careful about what I saw and-"

"Katniss it's fine. If anything you distracted me from my own thoughts," He gives me a reassuring smile. "Don't worry about it, okay?"

"Okay," I smile back, although I still feel guilty.

"So do you… want me to stay over more often?" His eyes search me, trying to figure out what our situation means. And lying there in his arms, feeling completely safe and comforted, it was too difficult to even think of saying no. Not in comparison to the countless nights since I'd returned to District 12 where I awoke to my own sweat, tears and sobbing to face alone. So I nod, "You can bring your pyjama's next time, I'm sure they'll be more comfy."

This makes the both of us smile and he chuckles a little, "Thanks, I'll be sure to do that." He sobers up soon after and leans forward, kissing me softly on the forehead. He pulls back quickly, probably expecting a reaction but I just smile in return. Maybe I don't have to face things alone anymore.


End file.
